Soul Leapers
by REwriter22
Summary: Prequel tie-in to "Moon Pie Shenanigans", a South Jersey Store named Blue Bulls-Eye is under investigation of an orange gas called "Soul Leaping" being found in the Backroom section. Determined to keep the store from shutting down, five Team Members take matters into their own hands and find the source behind the gas. What they found was one name: Henderson.
1. Chapter 1: Backroom?

Who'd have thunk it? An August level heatwave of 100 degrees in the month of June? Hayden's Wholesale, a retail department store in South Jersey, had a reputation for its fair share of drama, and in rare cases, spectacle. South Jersey was no stranger for dark things bubbling up the surface. June 23rd was a Friday night; the whole town was in an uproar. 100 degrees plus surprised everybody, causing them to invade the local ice cream shops and any place where air conditioning was king. Every department at Hayden's had all hands on deck as a TV sale was going nuts in the Electronics Department. Guests of all shapes, sizes and entitled views stormed the cool confines at Customer Service, complaining about their broken TV's as a long line formed to seize the sale. Westinghouses, Vizios, Samsungs; none of them were discriminated in the guests' eyes. When it comes to working the insane hour, the store doesn't just place a trainee to keep the crowds under control.

Whether Electronics or baby formula, you need the right people with cool heads to make sure such transactions go smoothly, and nobody was smoother than Electronics Team Member, Craig. A human being with an old soul, he had the brains and three tenants that would be regarded as a "Gary Stu" in the eyes of book readers: tall, dark, and handsome. However, looks alone couldn't influence a sea of impatient customers waiting in jaded lines for their TV's. In the Tech Center, it was him, two security members, and his partner in crime Scotty.

The sale began like clockwork around the early afternoon. Guest after guest bought their TV's in either mint condition or some slight tears around the boxes they came in. No one, not even the Leaders on Duty could explain it. It was like as a Vizio 43" left the store brand new, only to be brought back in worse shape than before. To the more experienced Team Members, it was the oldest trick in the book: stage an item to be in bad shape, return it, and make some bold excuse that would justify a discount. Over time, other Team Members such as Kyle and Daniela were able to weed out the bullshitters and send them packing.

Back in Electronics around 8:30 at night, the only bullshitting that wasn't taken lightly was a middle-aged man with two spoiled kids wrapped in civilized clothes. Craig in particular barely concentrated from all the screaming and incoherent rants of the guests. He was getting hot under the collar while dealing with three other guests with broken Apple Watches; the sound drowned out from his mind, making his hands shake until Scotty managed to pull him aside.

Concerned for his fellow Team Member, he asked him, "Craig, you with me buddy? The guests are somethin' else tonight."

"No shit..." He replied wiping the sweat off his forehead. "I've never seen anything like this, man. One guest is bitching about a broken watch, another about a PS4 getting a "yellow light of death". Where's Josh when you need him?"

"This is worse than the holidays. Hey, do you know where-"

"Excuse me, you two!" The middle-aged parent called out. "Whenever you're done catchin' feelings, my Samsung TV doesn't work!"

"Alright, I got this." Scotty told S.K. "Sir, what seems to be the problem?"

"What's it look like, you Ben Affleck abortion? This goddamn TV's obsolete. My cable provider won't connect to it!"

"Well, have you tried contacting your cable provider?"

One of the two kids pulled on his pant leg and cried, "Daddy, I have to pee!"

"Hush up!" The man scolded him. "Stay close to your sister. I'm losin' my patience here. Get me another TV that actually works. Can your Gigli intoxicated brain handle that?!"

"Excuse me?!" Scotty asked, getting ticked off.

Right then that was Craig's cue to call the Backroom for additional assistance; anything to get away from the crowd and helped other guests look for Xbox games. He pulled out his walkie and called, "Backroom?" No reply was heard ten seconds after the first call. After he called another two times, Craig had a pretty good idea who was supposed to be working back there. As he briskly walked towards the receiving area, he logged in the name of the TV in his PDA device.

"Luck" would be an illusion when it came to accurate numbers in the backroom; there would be two of something, but placed in the wrong location. Much to his surprise, no backroom Team Member was found although another smooth talker like Craig was supposed to manage the wide, yet claustrophobic dust box tonight. He got on his walkie again and called, "Chad, where are you?" The entire place was a mess. There was broken cardboard inside rickety, metal jailers, carts filled with back stock items. In laymen's terms, a lazy hurricane came in silence and no work got done.

He took out a bottled water of his and drank his fill to keep the heat at bay, but he knew going back out there would be like removing tonsils after the people he dealt with during the day. The only thing that kept him from going mad himself was the two and half hours left until closing time; the thought didn't help much though. He then trudged through the mess taking place in the 200's section, where all the TV's and furniture were located. Squeezing through the cramped space to reach the Samsung box, his walkie went off; master of good timing he thought.

"Yo Craig, what's the holdup? The guest is coming unhinged!"

"Relax, Scotty. I found the Samsung, just gotta get a flat." He told him, moving carts out of the way.

"Is Chad back there?"

"He's probably sick again, or getting his Daniel Craig on at Bertucci's. Who knows?"

"Thanks buddy, and hurry!"

As he pulled the TV away from the metal shelf, his back kept hitting a grey, three tier cart standing in front of large living room shelves. He moved the cart inches away from him; cringing screeches of its' wheels ensued moving it out of the mess. By sheer luck, he managed to push it outside by the firewall tunnel and pulled the TV until the back end of it was caught on something. Sweat streamed down the back of his neck as he uttered, "Gotta be kidding me, come on!" One heave, then two, then once more until an unfamiliar sound caught his ear.

Craig had little to no time to react at that point. Orange gas spread from the steel holds and hit his entire face. The gas felt like sand paper on his skin, and what it did to his throat had him on his knees and pushing towards the bathroom across the tunnel. Coughing up a lung, he struggled to reach the sink; his upper body felt like he was carrying a large anchor on his back. Four minutes and twelve seconds was all it took to bring him down. His glasses sat cracked next to him as orange liquid ran down his eyes like tears, and a slight twitch of his left index finger tried to salvage what little fight he had left.

The entire back room side of the store went completely quiet. Every team member, hard lines, soft lines, even the people working the café were waist deep in guest demand on the registers. Leader on Duty Joshua worked the floor along with Digital Advisor Matt in order to prevent any short fuses from exploding. Five minutes into the late night fiasco, the front end of the store became inaudible from the guests shouting and giving cashiers a literal run for their money. Luckily, Joshua thought he had his best MVPs working the registers; people like Nick, James, Krista, Mando, Marianne and Daniela holding down the fort with Senior Supervisor Kyle at Guest Service.

They would survive the night if the Christmas Holiday taught them anything, but on a hot night such as this would raise any kind of temperament. However, not only lines were forming from the registers all the way to the fitting room, Guest Service faced a trash situation; two in fact. Plastic and garbage were piling up behind the counter, and not enough Sterilite cardboard boxes to situate them. Just like the annoyances in Electronics, Guest Service encountered a battle of racial slurs between groups of diverse guests, stirring up drama where none existed. Daniela was the cool headed one behind the counter, shuffling through multiple guests as she finally called the backroom for extra boxes to keep the plastic surge under control. Once again, no response came from the receiving end of her walkie. Surprisingly enough, an old couple walked up to her and spoke as clear as they could.

"We're takin' our business to another store." The old man said showing her a Bissel box. "We've been waiting three hours to exchange this vacuum."

"We're _really_ sorry, guys." Daniela replied with slight uncertainty. "It's-it's been crazy all day."

His wife came forward and in true cynical form she said, "Get your shit together, girl! The Blue store should be prepared to handle times like these, especially summertime!"

You don't get to become one of the most well-known stores in the world by being 100% perfect in customer satisfaction. Guests like the old couple come and go to other places all the time, others come back to peruse sales. Daniela shrugged off the harsh words, but the heat turned up to a new level when two lines were formed from Guest Service straight towards the back end of Register 16. Taking a deep breath she noticed Marianne, a young mother who can sharp tongue sales with the best of them, ran towards her. Daniela then called out, "MARIANNE!"

"These people, dude... we're getting swamped out here!" Marianne shouted catching her breath. "Is it time to go home yet?"

"Listen, I gotta get sterilite boxes from the backroom. Can you take my spot for a few minutes?"

Marianne spared a quick glance at her register with a line of rowdy teenagers with candy and custom pool boxes in hand. She then turned back and replied, "Don't have to ask me twice! Let's hustle!"

Hustling was just about the only thing she could do sliding past and running back through the cosmetic section, through the market area, all while avoiding guest questions as she nearly swan dived through the double sided backroom doors. From there, it was like she entered a whole new place entirely. While the rest of the store was in a Stage 5 Overcrowding, the backroom was ever the messiest and quietest solitude anyone can flock to; too quiet though she thought. As she got her bearings she said to herself, "Really, Chad, you pick _tonight_ to flake out on us? Get me a grill, demand alcohol when we don't carry any, whatever happened to manners in this place?"

Comparing plastic buildup to cardboard buildup near the garbage compactor was like comparing fried chicken to T-bone steak. Getting the boxes weren't hard as she grabbed a green tub and filled it the best she could. She then hustled back towards the fire tunnel when a sudden slam of the boy's bathroom door caught her attention, but what caught her eye was another story. What lied before her was a Team Member on his last breath as orange liquid dribbled profusely from his mouth.

"Oh my fucking god. Craig…" She shouted running over to him. "Craig!"

The mere sight of him was something out of a horror film. His face had cracked lines on his cheekbones and was paler than the usual sick person. She didn't care, panicking and sweaty palms she turned him on his back and attempted to perform CPR on him. One attempt after another, pounding his chest and screaming at him to wake up, a slight lift coming from his diaphragm immediately had her put her ear to his mouth; a weak groan was better than none. Holding him in her arms with tears running down, "Oh thank god. You… fucking scared me half to death. What happened…?"

As if the all-day heatwave wasn't bad enough, nearly losing a Team Member and a friend was even worse. She took a minute to try and get him back on his feet. Craig let out a raspy response, "Da… Dan… iela…" All of a sudden and without warning, he grabbed her neck and slammed her against the wall. From there, it was a nightmare made real. His eyes turned a ghoulish orange as they intensely engaged the choking soul, tightening his grip little by little.

As she pleaded him to let go and scrambled to break free, Scotty went inside receiving in a foul mood turned to shock over what he saw in the distance. "What the hell? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" he shouted sprinting through the pet food section and tackled Craig to the ground. Raising his right fist, Craig returned the favor with an angry expression and head butted Scotty like a wrecking ball to fragile bricks. Scotty butted heads before, but the impact of this one really sent him back a few brain cells, leaving him dizzy and broke his glasses in half. Both he and Daniela struggled to stay in the now as Craig stood over him like a deity looking down at a mortal.

"Gotta say, it's rare some asshole gets the jump on me like that. It's been a minute, Scotty." He creepily spoke, stretching his neck. "You know, I didn't expect to end up in this boy's body, but… you play the field best you can, right? Oh, I don't have much time so I'll need you to fuck off for a bit while I take Dan-oh my god…"

Not fully aware of his previous actions, he glanced at Daniela on the ground coughing and struggling to stay awake. He stood up and turned around when Scotty held the left side of his head and asserted, "Leave her outta this asshole."

"… Always the obnoxious pit bull; this doesn't concern you."

"Think I give two fucks if I get fired or not?" He asked standing up. "Fuck happened to you, man; I can't believe you'd do somethin' like this!"

"Sco… Scott!" Daniela tried forming words.

"You always were a righteous douche, Scotty. You, Mando, everybody at the Tech Center, silently judging me 'cause I have big ideas." He replied clenching his fists. "Don't worry though. You'll see the bigger picture eventually." Another split second play set in motion that pitted two Team Members against each other. Scrapping each other took a total of twenty-four seconds; the bone crunching sounds coming from Scotty sent Daniela's teeth on edge as Craig delivered a rousing high kick to his chin.

This sent Scotty flying two feet away from the pet section, leaving a jaw dropping reaction from Daniela. From there, she got on her feet and not even three steps out the red doors Craig ran up to restrain her by the chest this time. She elbowed him in his rib cage and left four, red scars down his already cracked face, causing him to strike back and used his biceps to keep her from moving any further. The squirming was at an all-time high between the two of them, leaving him, "Forgive me. Believe it or not, foreign women intrigue me."

"Who… _are_ you?" Daniela called out.

"I swear he wasn't a part of this. Fuck it. Let's take a walk to Guest Service. I got to get this message out." He said as they both walked. "I wonder if _she's_ here."

9 PM wasn't far off with no end to the guest frenzy in sight. The heat maintained a heavy presence with cashiers making do with what scraps of plastic bags they had left. Guest Service on the other hand, Marianne especially, became fed up and started sending people away when their demands became repetitive. It was one broken TV and scuffed IPad after another. Marianne, Kyle, and another Team Member manning the phones Alyse, had some room to breathe when the lines were slowly cut in half.

"This store has the shittiest service imaginable!" One guest called out before leaving.

"Yeah, come again." Kyle replied with sarcasm.

"Sir, please, you need to calm down." Alyse urged as indistinct chatter occurred on the other line. "Okay, that's not calmer, that's louder. Our website is designed different from what we have at the store… s-sir that item is only sold during the winter months."

Alyse's line formed a group around her station. The two phones next to her rang off the hook as Kyle took over the calls while being bombarded by more TV owners. As the lines thinned out however, the guests that were just walking in were less moody and inquired about online orders they made the day before. Marianne had an aptitude for organizing specific online items so she took the opportunity for six seconds of free air she had at her disposal. Slouching and swigging away at her fruit punch Gatorade, a loud cry was heard from the Jewelry desk near the front of the registers where Josh and Matt supervised the craziness.

Cashiers like Kevin and Krista couldn't believe their eyes when they saw Craig in a whole new light; two neon orange lights Kevin thought. He dragged Daniela across the walkway without a care in the world, looking straight ahead at Josh as he panicked and told Matt to get the two other security guards for guest protection. Running behind the Jewelry displays, Josh dusted off an old megaphone sitting in one of the lower cabinets and sounded off a warning for people to evacuate the store. As more guests bore witness to Craig's newfound appearance, the majority took what they could carry and ran out just as quickly. They cramped up near the exit doors with security alarms going off in crescendo, causing even more panic and having guests throwing punches at one another.

In some cases, taming a wild herd would be suicide to the most experienced of tamers. Blue Bulls-Eye was no stranger to instability, but to Josh he had never seen anything like this. Being hot under the collar was an understatement, even with the store letting out guests left and right they were still dealing with a heatwave flowing in the cover of night. What transpired next left his blood cold.

"Craig…? Jesus Christ, what the fff…uck?"

"Joshua! You never were very good managing a crowd!" He called out holding onto a weakened Daniela. "A mishap in the backroom; hold her for me, will you?" He tossed her over the Jewelry counter like tossing a full garbage bag in a trash compactor. Catching her in his arms the way he did wasn't what left his blood running cold, nor was the transforming look of a zombie happening to Craig. Through means only a magician would manipulate, he snapped his fingers thus causing the security gates to drop, blocking off the exit doors.

"How the hell did he do that?" One Cashier asked.

"This is ground _zero_ for messed up." Kevin said.

"You said it." Krista replied looking over her register. "Where's Daniela?"

One of the workers from hard lines ran up to them and whispered, "Guys, I just came from the backroom. Scott's in fucking agony right now."

"You're shitting me, what happened?" Kevin asked.

"I don't know. I dunno what's gotten into Craig, but we need to evacuate ourselves."

"And how do you propose we do _that_? We can't get to the main Service Center, he'll spot us." Krista said, thinking for a moment. "I have an idea."

"… And what might that be?" Craig asked appearing out of nowhere, admiring her growth. "I always did have good taste, he nodded his head in disbelief, you're just as cute and beautiful as the first time we met here two years ago. Womanhood becomes you."

"Holy mother of-what happened to your face, and your voice?" She asked in shock.

All three stood still for a minute as James covered his eyes to avoid Craig skin peeling gaze. Kevin then stood forward and tried diffusing the tension, "What's up, buddy? Obviously you're not yourself. Why am I not shitting myself right now is beyond me? There's a clinic not far from here."

The sounds of bones cracked as Craig stretched out his neck. Being a frozen statue, Krista eyes veered towards his right hand having a seizure of sorts.

"No, not now; excuse me, Craig said trying to get a hold of himself, the effects are wearin' off. Fuck!"

It was before long the entire store went cold and silent. Guests were still trying to claw their way out. Matt and two other security guards carried an injured Scott across the chemical aisles, igniting gasps from the other Cashiers and pushing Josh towards the edge of being pissed off. "The cops will be here soon." He told Daniela sitting behind the desk. "Stay low until this is over. You're gonna be alright." Followed by a slight, yet assuring "yes" from a nod, Josh stepped away to confront him directly. Matt ordered the other guards to keep Scott from moving as he followed suit to prevent any more damage.

Craig made his way to the front of the store where he could see all the Cashiers and Guest Service in good view. After ten seconds of taking it all in while trying to "keep it together", the shakes subsided as he was reminded of a scene from one of his favorite movies. Something wasn't right though Josh thought moving to the front of the registers. The way he presented himself; obnoxious, brash, ranting like nobody's business, he thought _he_ had gone insane from thinking this way. However, there was no other way to put it. The leaking orange eyes weren't hiding the fact he was possessed by something… or someone. Matt stood firm with a taser gun in hand and an itch for tae kwon do.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, yo I'm sorry. Can y'all give me a moment here?" He chuckled like he was high. "Being back feels like I was fired just yesterday. Did you know it was Mr. Goatee over there that fired me for being "fresh" to Guest Service? It's one thing being a Market Team Member for some of the crankiest managers I've ever worked with. You guys actually made it bearable whenever I closed at night." He said taking a good look around. "Now I know how Chris Tucker felt in Rush Hour 2; all those Cantonese Masseuses that were shown to him. It's like being in a candy shop."

"That's enough, Craig!" Matt shouted, charging his taser. "Scott's bleeding in the corner and everyone's on edge."

"It's obvious that you're sick from the gas in the backroom." Josh said.

"Sick… sick? I'll tell you what's sick, Joshua. You're so laid back and chill with everything. Management doesn't bat an eye and everyone here loves you."

"That's debatable." Matt uttered as Josh darted his eyes back at him.

"I gave two, fucking years of my _life_ to this place! I've worked my fingers to the bone and cracked jokes to relieve stress! I rarely ask for anything in return, Josh."

"Craig, if this is a game you're playing…" Josh brought up before Matt pointed to Krista.

The clues were vague, but some of things he mentioned like working at Blue Bulls-Eye for two years and flirting with female Cashiers in near perverse fashion, Krista's eyes lit up with horror as to who was really speaking behind his voice. Her entire body went numb as her feet drew her closer to confront him face-to-face. James and Kevin tried holding her back, but to no avail did that stop her. It was common knowledge that she maintained an open mind about everybody, including a few underserving types. To most, she had a heart of gold, and now said heart was cracking as she moved closer and closer to a co-worker she once called "friend."

"It can't be… this isn't real." She said as her voice cracked.

"You know who I am, right Krista? Chad was supposed to be the test candidate of my gassed up experiment, but I got the next best thing right here. Don't you see? Now you can look at me without disgust." He explained sliding his right index finger down her cheek. "Age is only a number after all."

An open hand can be mightier than a closed fist as she demonstrated by slapping him. The impact had orange liquid flying out of his mouth. His neck whiplash and locked back into place. By the sound alone, it churned a few stomachs. Wiping the liquid off his lower lip he said, "You'd fit well with my family."

"What did you do to him?"

"I was going to tell you-

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY FRIEND?!" She cried at the top of her lungs as Marianne ran in and held her back. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT! CRAIG"S TWICE THE MAN YOU'LL EVER BE! HOW COULD YOU?!"

"How could I?! This is my family's recipe. It was an accident I took over this body, but you can see my true heart. Krista, I-I love you!"

Marianne pushed him back and said, "You're done talking to her whoever the hell you are! Go near her again and I'll knock your ass out myself."

It was happening again. His hands seized and his eyes glowed like high beams on a car. In mere seconds, a trifecta sequence cooked up: guests noticing sirens hurdling towards the store's parking lot, Matt aiming his taser and Craig performing his next outlandish act against a maternal Mary. Apart from being sharp tongued at Guest Service, she had an older sister vibe towards Krista, naturally having a protector complex as well. On the outside world, they were architects of their own paths, but were thick as thieves working together.

These qualities came full circle when Craig pushed the both of them towards a sharp, metal surface Guest Service's checkout counter. It was definitely something out of a horror film; people weren't meant to be thrown the way Marianne was Alyse thought. A surprised gasp came from everybody, even Josh and he was never easily fazed by the unnatural elements of the world. Soon after, 100,000 volts surged through his body as the first Manalapan Patrol cars reached the store's entrance. Tonight was definitely one for the digital history books.

From baby formula thieves to the occasional guest complaining about a colored towel ordered online, possessed Team Members was uncharted territory. Whatever was going to happen in the days to follow, Blue Bulls-Eye was going to be put under a tremendous microscope. Corporate has been lying in wait to put Manalapan on blast and shut the place down for good. One thing was for certain: things will never be routine again.

10


	2. Chapter 2: Root of the Matter

Life lessons are learned in Blue Bulls-Eye. One can never have the full picture of what kind of day it will turn out to be. For the first time in the store's history, a scene of abnormal behavior took shape in the hazy recesses of Craig. Going from losing his mind from a gas canister to acting out like he was in a play at Guest Service, Josh knew something was way off. Craig was the kind of guy who rarely wavered in personality, regardless of the store's condition. He was known to have a cool and collected attitude towards the guests as well as other Team Members. When the sirens came and questions were thrown around, Josh had a couple theories to juggle with, something he had to perform as a heart pounding presentation to the Manalapan Police. Forty-eight hours went by at a snail's pace; the store was still under emotional duress from what took place before.

Mid-morning shifts were usually more manageable to the single parent working two jobs. They're even more freeing if a Team Member is hard at work on the sales floor where all the action and headache take place. Where Craig ended up was a different story, but to the rest of the store, it was where not even he expected. He woke up like a hungover fish in what looked to be a closet sized office. This was Josh's office he thought, but why he was there and more importantly, tied to a chair boggled his mind to the point of lashing out again.

Blindly observing his surroundings, he determined two things: he was not behind bars for one. And an employee with a confused, yet concerned look in his eyes stared back at him. They rarely crossed similar paths. He knew the Backroom Team Member as Noah.

"Noah... thought you left. What the hell is all this?" He asked adjusting himself.

"You tell me, man." He replied standing in the doorway. "I come in this morning and Linda tells me some shit went down at Guest Service last night. Krista, Daniela… I still can't believe the tidbits I was fed."

Trying to get his mind right on last night's events, he said, "Guest Service...? First off, why the fuck am I tied to Josh's chair?"

"Never knew you to get drunk on the job. You seriously don't remember anything?"

"I-I remember gettin' something from the 200's; some TV. Next thing I knew my throat felt like I swallowed a razor... oh fuck. Noah, you have to believe me. I blacked out and I dunno know why or what happened." He said feeling his heart moving three times faster. "Where's Josh? I have to tell him I-I-I was drugged or something."

It was clockwork for Noah in particular seeing Josh walking towards the office with fatigue written on his face, and a stance like he was ready to throw a punch or two if it came to that. He walked up to him guarding the office and sternly spoke, "I'll take it from here, Noah. Thanks." Craig's "hangover" was kicking up; his head felt like it was on fire. Joshua closed the door behind him and walked around his desk in a slow, calming fashion. He sat before the gassed out employee and dished out the details the only way he knew how.

"Ah, Craig. I'm not going to lie. You're in deep shit. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Josh, untie me man. I'm not gonna fly off the handle like I supposedly did yesterday."

"Supposedly; the entire team is too afraid to go near you, save for a few. Marianne is in the hospital-

"Marianne, he cut him off mid-sentence, what the hell did I do to her?!"

"You violently pushed her and Cayla against the Guest Service counter. The doctors say her spine is in critical condition. She might not walk after this."

"Oh, fuck, _god_ no..."

"Daniela's in the hospital, too. You nearly crushed her windpipe and caused one of the biggest scenes this store's ever seen."

"I blacked out!" Craig shouted. "I was in the backroom getting a TV for a guest when some kind of gas hit me from the steel. Josh, c'mon man you know me. I'd never harm Krista, Marianne or anyone." He leaned forward and pleaded, "Please, I got a scholarship in the works. I can't do time."

Josh took a big sigh as he pulled out some Xeroxed papers the police gave him depicting the event. He laid them out in front of Craig for him to see. According to the notes written on the margins, the case with the gas canister stems back further; give or take forty years in the making. There was a family from South Jersey that took an interest in the meth dealing business. When too many eyes were gawking at the family's basement operations of five houses in different towns, the patriarch Lyle Henderson took to making the subway his temporary hub of establishing connections in the Staten Island area.

Papers continued saying the gas derived from hallucinogens of the near-death variety. The Henderson clan wasn't really a tight nit unit; some prefer to be in the company of other people to keep their sanity in check. Over the years, as connections grew from distributing the gas to other depressed individuals, some members of the family got greedy and started using it on themselves for more "intimate" cravings. The entire time Josh gave Craig the history lesson he kept a close look on the left side of his neck; a pulsing vein that moved in a harmonic rhythm. If what he read about the gas was correct Josh thought, one of its triggers was a bodily impact on a hard object. That way, the person using the gas could have a semblance of their old self back before things got worse.

"Did a Henderson work for our store?" S.K. asked.

"Technically... yes. I'm still trying to piece all this together, and going against my better judgment... I believe you had no control over what you did, or "he" did."

"Hold up." He said trying to comprehend what he saw. "The shit that nearly killed me possessed my body? This can't be real! Who the fuck would do this? Alright, I-I gotta get to a hospital, flush this stuff outta me."

"Not yet." Josh replied. "What happens now is I talk to the "other" guy again. I have to knock you out."

"Say what now?!" He spoke with surprise.

For a guy like Josh, knocking the idiocy out of someone was something he seldom did. When it came to violence, he demonstrated it when it was necessary. Walking around Craig and cutting the restraints off his hands and feet, he stood him up with only five seconds to trigger his other half. With his legs moving like jell-0, Josh palmed the back of his head and with quick precision he slammed it against the table as hard as he could with an agonizing scream. "Sorry brother..." Josh whispered as he witnessed him writhing in skull agony.

It couldn't have been any more than thirty seconds his office went really quiet; suddenly his walkie went off at his right hip. His heart jumped and turned off the device as he sat back at his desk waiting. A dark skinned hand slammed the desk; those orange, ghoulish eyes stared back at Josh as he kept his composure. "S.K." lifted the chair and with some struggle to compose himself, he took a minute to gather his thoughts on how to make some kind of diversion to slip away. Josh crossed his fingers and sternly spoke, "You know who I am?"

Rubbing his head and cussing a few choice words to himself, he retorted, "Gimme a sec... you hit pretty hard for a 50 year old playboy."

"It works for Robert Downey Jr."

"I was the go-to guy for any form of assistance in this store. I supervised Guest Service, did inventory and back stocking in the Backroom, made everyone laugh while taking the piss by Market Team Members. Where did everything go wrong?"

"I'm staring at the problem right now. You're Mickey Henderson-

"That's _not_ my name!" He snapped back at him, feeling too lightheaded to throw a punch. "This body is fighting me."

"It's one of seven aliases you used to get four types of jobs prior to the one you got here. Your real name's not important."

"Well, that puts my throbbing head at ease." He replied sarcastically. "Y'know, I was told once that I was very good at making up stories. Wanna know how I got this job?"

"By pathologically lying to everyone whoever crossed your path. You made bold claims that you've had experience with Market before. Then when it came time to prove such things on paper, you flat out failed. And at _every_ turn, you keep making up lies to prove you're not full of shit."

"What can I say? I like to perform for idiots who don't appreciate my presence. Why am I not in those restraints? I could strangle you at any time or do things not even an insane person would do."

"Like what?" Josh asked.

"Ha, ha, ha, I may be losing my grip on this body but I ain't stupid. You should've let me finished what I started with Marianne."

"Oh, yes, one of the few girls who tell you like it is. As I recall, it was both her and Alyse who told you time and again Krista wasn't interested in you."

"Minors peak at a certain age." He replied in a sinister tone. "I wanted her to be the one to free me from my family's grip. Those baby blues, milky skin, and you can't deny her smile. My personal crown jewel; all I need is a whip and some huge boulder to chase me. "

Matt walked into the Team Service Center when he overheard chatter coming from Josh. Once he heard "Craig's" voice speaking like some tweaked out Joker, he stormed in with his taser tightly gripped, ready to send another 100,000 volts in his vertebrate. "I've heard enough outta this prick!" He scolded him. "Craig" smiled and acted unimpressed by the man's predictable entrance. For some odd reason from Josh's point of view, he didn't seem to have any tell on whether he was going to strike Matt the second either of their backs turned. Any number of things can happen in a confined space.

Tensions were raised within Josh as he looked at Matt to see what he was going to do next. He then promised, "I'm going to discover the reason behind the gas you planted in the back room."

"I assure you I've much more than a fucking canister. My motivation goes beyond anything this store throws at me." He said as he stood up slowly with both hands up.

"Just say the word Josh." Matt insisted.

"All of Blue will see soon enough; 6-6-16. Remember that date, gentlemen. I'll see myself out."

"Like hell you will-" Matt said before he banged his own head on the desk, knocking him out cold. Matt's eyes widened to the sudden occurrence. Nothing is truly scary unless it's happening in front of you. With his body lying out on the floor Josh got up and said, "Help me lift him up."

"When that asshole took over his body," He spoke before realizing, "can't believe I said that with a straight face."

"Don't sweat it." Josh said. "You say everything with a straight face."

"But what I don't get is the things he was saying. It doesn't add up. The man I know is cool with the ladies here. You expect me to believe-"

"I don't know what to believe." He replied setting him back on the chair. "But I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of him."

"The last of whom…" Matt asked as Josh glanced back with obvious intent. "You're telling me he was possessed by… well, fuck me sideways. Just when you think you've seen everything."

"We're gonna sort this all out. I need you to take him to the hospital to get the gas out of his system. I'll let the other leads know what's going on."

"You got it." He said lifting Craig up. "Between us, I'm glad Christina left. Those two _never_ got along."

The entire time speaking with the "other guy" he kept his composure, and didn't show any sign of surrender. Seeing him leaving his office dragged by his feet however, that image knocked the wind out of him. It didn't make his situation any better when he saw specs of blood on the edge of his desk. He took a minute to think before calling the other managers into the orientation room for an emergency huddle. He grabbed the police files with his hands shaking, and walked as his heart pounded out of his chest.

Waiting for the others to arrive, he took the time to review over the files so he could get the complete picture of what the store was going to be dealing with. His mind still couldn't process the fact Mickey was tied to a 40 year drug operation that injects their very essence in people they loathe. Background checks sure weren't what they used to be he felt. According to the files, the gas itself was dubbed "Soul Leaping".

The inception of the operation derived from Lyle Henderson's first-born daughter, Kenzie. He had reason to suspect her boyfriend was a drug competitor of the family, and that Kenzie was trading secrets with him. Skipping to the present day, Josh noticed the last of the Hendersons retired the gas business in 1988. Five, older brothers and three sisters were still alive to this day; their whereabouts remained unknown. Mickey was the only one to have to come into making the gas again. It was a mystery as to what he's really been up to since he got fired.

Ten minutes later, some of the managers started walking in with worried minds and open eyes. It became public knowledge at this point that Mickey was making a comeback, and not to get his old job back. One of the Leaders on Duty, Jim, was a reasonable sort; ten years working for the same company he had seen squabbles that ended with the police stepping in, but when it came to gas crazed employees his suspension of disbelief only went so far.

"Hey, Jim, how're you holdin' up?" Josh asked shaking his hand.

"I still can't wrap my mind around this; Craig of all people, doing what he did to Marianne and Scott?! It's insane."

Another manager stormed in with heavy concerns over the future of the store. Shaken up, Mary said, "This store's reputation is at risk."

"Hey Mary…" Jim said.

"What does corporate say?" Josh asked laying out the files on the desk.

"They have reason to believe we're the ones who poisoned one of our own. Marianne's still in the hospital. Doctors are still deciding whether she's going to walk or not."

"Jesus Christ..." Jim uttered.

"This could hurt us. We've had five call-outs today. We're short staffed as it is, and they're thinking of shutting us down to quarantine the entire store. Anyone know who closed last night?"

"Well, Chad left at 5:30 and Casey called out at the last minute so... nobody." Josh acknowledged. "Let's wait until Lisa and Matthew get here. We need to discuss the future."

Like any retail store, it goes through the annual triage of corporate prodding and re-modelling walking aisles. The upside is that it gives experienced employees a new look into what changes the store would have to abide by to generate higher profit. In very rare cases, an outbreak could be just as deadly, if not more so, than the occasional bomb threat in the bathroom stall. These are two main things corporate take very seriously. A team member could be facing jail time and lord knows what else Mary thought.

Unlike Jim, she was paranoid about everything around her. One mid-day shift, she had eyes glued to a shady male character staring at lingerie for two hours straight. Not many of her fellow Team Members remember the day she caught the guy without paying, running out the exit door. It was the kind of capture football players could appreciate. Hearing about Craig caught her by surprise as well; she always had a good working relationship with him. Matthew and Lisa entered three minutes after the others in a heavily concerned state.

"Have a seat guys." Josh told them.

"Josh, The store is pretty shaken up." Matthew said. "People have been talking about going to other stores."

Jim then chimed in, "They're not going to other stores, Matt. One Team Member won't compromise business. Craig just has some issues to work out."

"It was more than some the way I heard it." Mary replied.

"Okay, addressing the petite elephant in the room, what happened last night and what does this have to do with Craig?" Lisa asked confusingly.

"That's the reason I brought you all here." Josh said, passing out the files. "The police have been very skittish about this four decade old drug business the Hendersons have been running out of South Jersey. What happened to Craig was the result of orange gas in the backroom. Guess who is the source?"

Looking at a file with mugshots, one called out to Lisa in particular. A few weeks ago, talking to Mickey Henderson was like pulling teeth; especially when she crossed his path in a foul mood in the 100's section in the backroom. However, his mugshot was not among the six family members dating back forty years. Each member carried a near resemblance to one another, like procreation was kept "in" the family for purity's sake. The image of Lyle Henderson disgusted her; smile of a sadist and eyes of a hunter. She kept to the current situation at hand and asked, "This is freaking bizarre. You're telling me this connects to that gas canister that turned S.K. cuckoo for Reese's Puffs?"

"Mickey is just an alias, one of seven. His real name is the one who got fired." Josh replied.

"Well, I say good riddance." Mary brought up with pride in her voice. "The people in the Produce Department deserve a break from him. Always disrespectful and lashing out at the guests; wouldn't be surprised if he pops up at some point... god, I hope not."

"I know some guys in the Manalapan unit who can keep an eye on the store in case any shit hits the fan." Jim said. "Now granted, the next few weeks are gonna hinder our way of business. But we got to stay optimistic."

"I agree." Josh concurred. "We ride this out for now until the police find Mickey and shuts down this 40 year operation for good."

Matthew was feeling hot in the head all of a sudden. If for one second he was to believe some gas caused everything that happened, it would compromise his view on what was real and what wasn't. He was the kind of Team Leader who was a realist and wasn't very big on conspiracy theories unless he was watching the X-Files. He put one of the files down shaking his head and said, "Wait, wait hold on a second. Are you guys seriously considering this shit we're looking at is true? Look at the keywords on these papers: "Soul Leaping Gas", "Purified Henderson Gene Pool", "126 unsolved deaths of people connected to the family". How does it all relate to Craig again?"

"Matt, even I don't have all the pieces placed together." Josh reminded him. "That's why I called you guys here to discuss what's happening to the store. All I ask is you spread the word to the other Team Members, inform them on the changes that are going to take place for the time being."

"One last thing…" Jim brought up. "Noah told to me earlier that Craig was in your office before he was taken to the hospital. Does he recall anything from last night?"

Josh paused for a moment as a split second image showed orange ghoulish eyes before telling Jim, "One way or another, justice will be served in this store. You can bet on that."

There are only two outcomes to a typical work day: stressful or surviving the day, because that's all it has ever been. This time however, the next few days the Blue store was going to be put under a large microscope with a prying corporate eye looking down on them, but they're not the only ones watching. Two days before, Daniela, Scott and Marianne were transported to a clinic in Raritan where their loved ones kept their spirits up.

Two Manalapan units kept guard on Marianne's room in particular all throughout the morning until one of the five call-outs came by with flowers. Suffice it to say, entering her room was like lock picking a highly expensive padlock. One tumbler picked incorrectly would compromise the whole spine chilling challenge. Luckily, that wasn't the case for Sales Floor member Nick; being one of Marianne's best friends and on the visitation list. All it took was a kind word and a brief frisking to get inside, but as soon as he did the room hit him like a brick to the face.

She looked worse for wear he thought. He sure hated to challenge Craig in an arm wrestling match if it came to that. Marianne had bruises on her face as well as having a back brace of some sort to keep her upright. Nick took the flowers and put them in a plain, glass vase on the right side of her bed and sat by to keep her company.

"Hey, Mary... everyone's reeling over what happened at Guest Service. Krista's doing fine, talked to her this morning. She's actually coming later today after she's done with an interview at TCNJ. Gotta tell you, months of grinding through schoolwork with this place and little sleep; "proud" doesn't even come close to what I'm feeling. Mickey Henderson… that slick bastard is at it again. If you can hear anything I'm sayin', whether you have to use a wheelchair or not... you'll be alright."

The sound of the bathroom door opening behind Nick gave him a quick startle when he heard a familiar voice calling out through the unnatural vapors. Two years didn't feel like a lifetime, and for Nick especially he hoped he didn't have to stoop to Mickey's level just to drive him away. If having two older brothers taught him anything, is that a good ole fashioned brawl against someone you despise is sometimes necessary to get a point across. Even with all the lashing out he did against his Produce Managers during his time there, Mickey still retained his ghetto bravado with a hint of perversion.

He zippered up his ripped jeans and said, "He-heeeey, wassup Nicky? Bet'cha didn't expect me to turn up again."

Nick's knuckles became whiter than the driven snow, all while replying with one word, "You..."

"I'd be careful if I were you, Nicky." He said cracking his knuckles and stretching his back. "We wouldn't want to upset the patient."

11


	3. Chapter 3: Sister to Sister

There was a shadow competition in place to see which rang the loudest in a single night. There is a wide distinction between people arguing up the sound barrier, and over a dozen police sirens playing their timeless tune. To the most experienced lifer, the sound of red and blue flashers can still raise a back hair whereas one can simply walk in the opposite direction for peace and quiet. On June 23rd 2015, the heatwave that struck the entire week took its business elsewhere when Target became the test bed of gas exposure. They arrived at 9:10 at night to a once beloved Team Member lying in a pool of orange liquid still steaming off the floor.

The Manalapan Unit took their usual precautions by evacuating everyone else out of the store. Josh and Matt being the head supervisors lead the questioning brigade as to what happened. Five minutes later, the Paramedics came and turned the store parking lot into a chilling rainbow of red and blue. Whether it sat well with a former employee was up in the air at this point; Mickey Henderson kept to the outside as his family's nightmare emerged from within. He sat in a washed out Toyota Camry smoking a cigarette when he received a phone call coming from his glove compartment. Fast food wrappers and a poorly made origami crane fell out and the vibration sent his heart on edge.

For a second, he forgot he even had his phone on with only 15% power left. He picked it up and out came a reality he didn't expect to listen to, and apart from being good at making up stories, he didn't have single tall tale to pitch to.

"What's good, boss man? I take it you're impressed with this shit show?"

It took a total twelve seconds to hear a response, but to Mickey all he felt was a rush of relief flowing through his veins, knowing he got his message out to the store and revamp the Henderson Legacy as his own. Soon after, the voice replied, _"You seem pleased with yourself. Do you see your guinea pig?"_

Mickey got out of the car and observed who the police brought out. With only a quick glimpse to grant, who he saw was not who he intended to possess. S.K. was one of the most respected Team Members in the store; made business connections and renaissance his way to be everyone's friend. He was no fool though. He knew which buttons to press and kept a level head while doing it. Mickey shut his eyes in shame and said, "No, no, no, no, no… boss, I swear to God I didn't expect this to happen. Fuck! It was supposed to be someone else."

" _Is that your pitch? You told me Soul Leaping pinpoints a specific range of people your family despises. This is an egregious error, Mickey. You said you've gotten the oxy levels right."_

"That's what I did." He expressed. "I gave you the description of the guy. Chad from Backroom was supposed to take the bait, not S.K."

" _This is not looking good. You just put an innocent man on a one way trip to prison, and three other Team Members in the hospital. One may lose the feeling in her legs thanks to you. I should have known; this night was not in the cards."_

"Marianne." He spoke with subtle regret in his voice. "So what happens to our arrangement, you ain't thinking of shutting me down, are you? My family's recipe can help in the grand scheme of things. You showed me-

" _What I present and represent will have to wait a little longer. I will make other arrangements to clear Mr. Kahn of this night. Close up your gas hub. And get it 'right' this time."_

"Wait, hold on a sec. Who the hell is S.K. to you anyway?"

The click and consistent dial tone on the other end didn't come as a surprise to Mickey. When they first met, he was half cut from beer cans and a tidal wave of regret weighing on his shoulders. As for his gas hub recently established in Newark, he had a tough drive ahead of him. It was a good thing he didn't see the outcome of that night; the thought of Cayla being hurt would have done him in the worst way. Forty-eight hours cement footed by with a wall of questioning to Target Management and providing a tale of caution about the Henderson Family business.

According to the Chief of the Manalapan Unit, Julien Adamo, he urged one of the store's LODs, Jim to adhere to the quarantine protocols and not to worry about the Hendersons altogether. Josh on the other hand was inclined to look into it further. In only two days' time, Target was turned into an offsite lab for the Center for Disease Control, searching every corner and crevice from Guest Service to the dusty rafters of the Backroom. The staff came in the form of a skeleton crew, performing their routinely duties around Hazmat personnel. Those who called out took the time to look for other avenues that could benefit them more in the future.

Guest Service's very own Alyse had a lucky break being a college graduate and looking into the field of Physical Education. Between two jobs and her career choice, she was well on her way out of the retail life; timing could not be more prudent than this. The two single moms who survived the incident, all Daniela and Marianne cared about was getting better, nothing that ice cream and their families couldn't fix. Luckily, living in a small world was great for Scotty, too. Although he couldn't breathe properly with a few broken ribs, Daniela and two of his younger brothers came to visit him. They were all grateful to be alive, but what about S.K.'s fate some wondered?

As Josh used his free time to look further into the Henderson bloodline, Nick found his back turned from the source. The smell of Mickey turned his knuckles white and a neck vein pulsed when he heard his voice for the first time in two years. Nick wanted to act fast and away from the hospital. It could be his only chance.

"I assume you heard what happened the other night?" Nick asked, keeping his composure.

"… We should really talk outside, Nicky. What I'm about to tell you will raise Mary's blood pressure."

"You crossed the line…"

"I've crossed many; blame my genetics." Mickey replied walking to the door. "Come or don't come. Either way, I have to make this right. S.K. wasn't supposed to inhale that stuff. I'll be outside lighting a cigarette. You're welcome to join."

Nick stood up and followed Mickey out of the hospital room without the security guards giving a second thought to who he was. It caught him by surprise, compelled him to the point of exposing Mickey and avoiding life in prison. However, the natural instinct of sending Mickey's face to the pavement crept over his way of reason. He continued following him out onto the Raritan Memorial parking lot. It had a lot of cars and too many curious eyes that could whistle for authority at a moment's notice. Nowadays, people would do anything for their version of "justice". Nick kept his distance with his arms crossed as the summer winds blew around them.

"Soul Leaping is a four decade old experiment my grandfather Lyle Henderson created. It created a lot of stir in South Jersey and into Staten Island."

"Why man, why the fuck would you do something like this?" Nick asked.

He let out a smoke puff before inquiring, "Have you seen Cayla lately?"

"ANSWER THE GODDAMN QUESTION, MICKEY!" He shouted over the entire parking lot.

"If you wanna kick my ass, might as well do it here. It won't change what happens to this planet."

"Do you hear yourself? The only thing that'll happen to this planet is it'll spin on without your perverted ass in it."

"You'll have to forgive my lack of enthusiasm." He said, flicking his cigarette. "I've been hard at work reversing the gas's effects. Look, S.K. is gonna live. He'll be back to his old, charmin' self in no time. If I wanted to kill him, I'd have dug deeper into my family's secrets."

"What secrets?"

"Ever watched Child's Play, Chucky the Killer Doll? Soul Leaping was originally designed to drive someone to the brink of suicide, but it'd be our will to guide them there. Puppet strings." He explained, wiggling his fingers. "Target hurt me, Cayla never saw me as someone she would be with."

"Oh, she was never yours to _begin_ with." Nick made clear. "You're lucky I'm not a bitter jerk like you, 'cause it's taking every fiber in me not to beat your ass into the ground."

"As I've said, the world is going to change. It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. You know, it's too bad you've never shown how much you cared about her. You never made a move. No matter how meticulously I 've prepared my approach, no matter how much of an old romantic I was, it's taken me a year to realize… I never did stand a chance. Hendersons are cursed with loving deep, hating deeper."

"Your gas injured Cayla and Marianne. Blue Bulls-Eye is slowly becoming a security fun house and people are quitting left and right."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Mickey asked.

"You crossed the line."

Growing tired of the back and forth banter of hollow threats, "You said that already! Grow an actual pair and tell me what a scrawny, Corleone reject like you is gonna do about it!"

They say appearances can deceive a non-believer. It worked for Bruce Lee in his prime, but Nick was more of a thinker than a fighter. He could stand in front of Mickey and picture the worst ways of having his promises show weight; Nick simply walked away and back in his car to figure out his next move. It took him two right turns and onto the parkway to understand, but he knew he made the right decision not punching him in the mouth. Although he never the met the Hendersons personally, the remaining five brothers and three sisters had way more subtlety than Mickey ever did, making them even more dangerous.

One of the older sisters, Rylie, did a learning stint at Georgian Court University before dropping out her Junior Year and off the face of the Earth. For what reason Nick didn't know, but all the same he considered it a tale of caution that if the Hendersons cared for Mickey at all, then for the sake of keeping their gene pool pure, anyone associated to the Target store was in deep water. It took the rest of the week for the store to become an air traveler's worst nightmare. Security guards were checking both guests and Team Members at the entrance; the Backroom was closed off for remodeling new state-of-the-art cameras that can sense all kinds of gases in the air, both natural and unnatural. As for the rest of the place, to the naked eye it would seem routine with guests going through the motions of buying stuff.

Everyone on staff, including the LODs was on edge from the hired guards watching them. LOD Jim thought he could reason with some of them due to them being former Manalapan cops. However, reaching his old friend in the Precinct, Julien was like getting a good picture with actress Cate Blanchett. While he, Lisa, and Mary endured the new changes, Josh somehow became more intrigued with the Henderson family history than what was happening out on the sales floor. He couldn't explain his newfound behavior; could have been a new spin on the old saying "an eye for an eye".

Sitting in his office while leaving everything exactly the way it was when S.K. was there, he laid out a web of intrigue cut out from the copied police files and the mugshots, and pasted them on his wall. Everything from Lyle being raised in a New York refinery to first born Bentley Main Henderson in manufacturing the gas, the whole time he wondered how Mickey was related to these people. They were invested to a fault, and that kind of investment led to 126 unsolved murders but the question was why. Why close a 40 year old case when the culprits are still at large and in secret? Josh took a step back and downed his third cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, feeling like he hasn't slept since the incident.

It was four hours since he came in for his shift at the store. It was mandatory for a Team Member to keep their walkie on at all times, but these days the chatter consisted of cries for help and guards switching frequencies to bark orders at the LODs. Two hours of it could drive any person over the edge of a cliff; turning it off sounded like a good idea at the time. Mary, Jim and Lisa held their own the floor so why not he wondered before. That was until he heard four knocks on his office door by none other than a frustrated Jim.

"Damn, you don't look so good." Josh said feeling concerned.

Jim appeared before him frustrated and thirsty for something stronger than black coffee. As a matter of fact, he asked out of the blue, "Got any whiskey?"

"Come in, man." He replied looking both sides of TSC before shutting the door. "Corporate's really batting down the hatches on us. How's everyone out there?"

"How do you think? Guests are pissed off, the guards aren't helping to calm the situation, and the Flow Team in the Backroom is thinking about striking… all this over a goddamn gas canister."

"Ugh, I still can't explain what happened that night myself." Josh said, pouring another cup. "Drink up."

Putting on a long face he half joked, "This doesn't look like whiskey."

"Well, this office doesn't look like a cruise ship heading to the Carribean." Both chuckled. "The wife and I were planning on going on the Fourth of July… can't afford to do that now."

"Why not, Jim asked when suddenly his walkie went off, go ahead Mary."

" _Have you seen Josh?!"_ She asked in a panic.

"What's up, Mary?" Josh quickly took over.

" _Oh, Jesus, there's this one security guard manhandling a guest near Check Lane 9. Matt's assesin' the situation, but the guard is looking to swing at him."_

"This is getting ridiculous." Jim pointed out.

"I'm coming out now!" Josh replied, getting up and leaving Jim to compose himself.

A frenzy was breaking out near the registers. Seeing what was happening around the ninth register was like a repeat of the incident, albeit a watered down version with Target Corporate Security. It couldn't have been any more than twenty-six guests surrounding the hostile occurrence with a few spectators hiding out in the café area; to the teens that fed on hot pretzels it was the best entertainment they ever had in a retail place. Josh shimmied through the crowd and got in-between Matt and one of the guards trying to bad mouth a pissed off looking dock worker cussing him off. Chatter erupted about the dock worker defending his pregnant wife, claiming the guard shoved her away.

Unlike Josh, Matt had a tendency to be a hothead when provoked. Little did the guard know he was reaching the end of his journey of earning a black belt in tae kwon do. If it was anywhere else he thought, the guard would be crying "insurance claims" instead of pushing around pregnant women. Josh jumped in and pushed him half a foot away from Matt and shouted, "That's enough! Stand down! What the hell's the matter with you? You really want to cause a second incident after what happened to one of our own?!"

The dock worker interjected, "Are you fuckin' kidding me right now?! My wife was trying to get to the bathroom when this fuckin' retard pushes her for "cutting lines"!"

"I was escorting her." The guard claimed. "Then she took a swing at me!"

"Bullshit!" Matt shouted at him. "I saw what happened. You pushed her. Now, you owe her an apology."

Six other guards moved up from containing the rowdy guests and joined the "retarded" one with nightsticks in their hands. For glorified looking Mall Cops, Corporate cut a few financial corners when their upgraded stun guns had a Smith and Wesson style to them. Either way, the provoking guard who went by the name "Thaddeus" tooled up with his own nightstick, swagger-less stature and said, "You two seem to forget. The Manalapan Target Store is under new supervision thanks to your Team Member's stage performance. Any demands and regulations come from Corporate now." He pointed to Josh and continued, "And since _this_ LOD was in charge that night, any lip from Target personnel will be treated with due prejudice. That means: suspension, termination, docking wages, anything we got to do to ensure another gas hazard does not break out again. So I suggest you be mindful in how you address us."

Corporate's new red spotted lap dogs have been singing the same "dominion" tune since they were transferred to the store. As was stated in the past, they have been looking to shut the store down for having a little too much freedom amongst the staff. Unbeknownst to the higher-ups, the contrary couldn't be any more evident. Lisa and Mary ran towards the pregnant wife and helped her on her swollen feet, taking almost all of the upper body strength they had. She looked like she could pop at any moment, but the heavy Jersey accented lady put her hormones to work after quietly praising the two LODs for assisting. She then walked up to Thaddeus with a right hook that could make Mike Tyson step up his game.

The man with a big stick and bigger mouth wasn't intimidating to begin with, but Corporate took pride in keeping up appearances when it came to their Martial Law with one of the top stores in New Jersey. While Thaddeus was on the floor picking up two of his teeth, the other six guards took a few steps back as Josh bent down and warned him, "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to apologize to… ma'am what's your name?"

"Jolene." The husband said.

"That was a sweet right hook by the way." Matt acknowledged to her.

"Nice to meet you Jolene; on behalf of the Bulls-Eye, we give you our sincerest apologies for our new security department. It obviously has a few dings that need mending." Josh said before turning to Thaddeus. "You and I will pay Corporate a visit to get this new arrangement of ours sorted out. This is the second time you've bullied a guest because you didn't like how they looked. Not everyone's a psycho."

"That's rich, Joshua." He spat out blood. "Believe it or not, I'm on your side. I lost a cousin to the same orange gas your Team Member got infected with. When I escorted Jolene, she looked suspicious so I had to instigate."

Suddenly, the husband wanted to go a third round when Mary and Lisa held him back. Mary took his left arm and stressed, "Sir, you don't want to do that."

"Anything you purchased is one the house." Lisa promised. "We'll handle things from here."

Jim stood outside TSC's main door and witnessed the whole ordeal as Josh handled it. He gave a slight grin thinking it was the first time in the past week the store was retaking control from Corporate's new security regiment. It was a brief victory though he thought, and noticing some of the guards they were most likely going to settle the score in some other way. Before Thaddeus became involved with "keeping the peace" amongst retailers, he was a regular guest who had been shopping at the store since its grand opening fourteen years ago. He never liked making a big deal about it, but when he heard they hired a Henderson boy without knowing who he really was from the start his emotional attachment to the store began clouding his judgment. After half an hour, the sales floor went back to the new version of normal where guests were having their receipts checked at the exit door and moving at an assembly line's pace.

By the time mid-day came, Josh and Matt just about had it dealing a dozen headaches while medicating their own over by the Pharmacy. Being manager or Digital Advisor, sometimes there was never enough aspirin to get through the day. Alcohol was out of the question and there wasn't a built-in gym to alleviate their stress, but that was the contract they signed when first joining up. There are no good or bad days working in Target, just surviving one headache after another until the rewind kicks in the next day. For Josh's sake, he was counting down the minutes walking towards Appliances before he could go home at 6 PM.

Beer and Point Pleasant Beach couldn't come soon enough he thought. After spending all afternoon hanging out with Cayla and figuring out his next move, Nick drove into work with one positive to fall back on. Although the store was like an airport terminal, at least the parking lot was still the same with people cutting others off and making sharp turns getting on the South 18 route. All day, Nick was making a game plan on how to deal with Mickey's family. The police were pulling back due to the history of the gas, and the only other lead he had to go on was the Old Henderson boarding house somewhere in Staten Island. He had an idea he wanted to run by Josh; whether he was going to hear him out or not was the big question.

Walking into the store after getting searched, he managed to run into an exhausted Lisa going into TSC. It didn't look it at first sight, but the store had this ran down feeling. The other Team Members slogged around different aisles packing out items while the four cashiers Nick saw were under an invasive eye from security. He slipped past their field of vision with a family of four walking towards the exit and through the Center's main hallway.

"What's up, Lisa?" He asked.

"Hopefully my apartment ceiling, been pinching myself all day on the notion I may be dreaming all this."

"It was _that_ bad today?"

"Bad? Try "we may have to go to war with Target Corporate" bad. After today, they'll probably send additional workers to push the Flow Team out, causing another catastrophe altogether." She said, dropping into her office chair. "It's only been a week, but it feels like forever."

"This new setup we have, it can't be permanent, right?"

"It could be short term or long term." She replied rubbing her eyes. "Either way, if you have a second or third job, request more hours from them so you can spend less time here. What time is it?"

"A quarter to six, he replied looking at his watch, hey have you seen Josh anywhere? I need to talk to him."

"Last I saw him, he was stocking in Market."

"Thanks, hang in there." He assured her. "We're gonna pull through this crapshoot."

At least the cosmetic and school supply aisles were empty. The guests caught wind of the store's new standards, and have been flying in and out with items carried in red baskets. Nick could still see the faded orange spots on the floor where "S.K." took Daniela against her will; he couldn't imagine what took place that night. At the time, he was on his day off, but he heard things and after an unexpected visit from Mickey himself he felt he had an obligation to protect his fellow Team Members. Cayla especially, Nick always admired her heart and kindness to others.

Mickey took advantage of that one too many times he thought, and seeing Josh heading towards the Backroom he caught up with him bringing a red cart full of back stock. If bags under one's eyes could talk, it could tell an engaging trilogy filled with suspense and severe exhaustion among the main characters. Nick didn't have the complete former yet, but Josh brought the latter in spades.

"Yo, Josh!" He said running up to him inside the Backroom.

"What's going on Nick?" He yawned. "Oh, don't forget. You need a pass to bring items in and out of the Backroom."

"You're kidding me. That wasn't part of the new contracts we got!"

"They updated 'em yesterday. Hey, have you spoken to either Cayla or Marianne at all since-

"Cayla's doing alright." He assured him. "Raritan Memorial won't let Marianne out 'till tomorrow morning. She can still walk thank God."

"Oh, that's good to hear!" Josh said feeling relieved. "That's really good to hear. Mickey Henderson… of all the crazy shit he pulled."

"I ran into the shithead himself. He said he knew about the gas hitting S.K. I'm not gonna lie… it took everything in me not to kick his ass."

Josh shushed him all of a sudden and replied, "Keep it down. I uh… sorta talked to him as well."

"When did you…?"

"Two days after it happened. S.K. was freaking out. When I looked over the police files, there was a trigger the Hendersons used to snap themselves out of that Soul Leaping gas. They would bang their heads on a hard surface." Josh said walking with him, avoiding contact with the cameras in the 100s section. "Let's just say I'll have to requisition a new office desk."

"Holy shit…" Nick spoke as his eyes widened. "Any updates on him?"

"Corporate has been cutting off phone calls from the Manalapan Unit. Jim's been moving heaven and Earth to get a word out to them, but his contact inside isn't receiving anything. I've been looking into Henderson Family Tree, too."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Now, I'm not saying it won't happen. I'm just letting you know I'll be conducting my own investigation on Mickey, and how deep this orange gas goes."

"Nick, he sighed and stretched his back, think about what you're saying. Everything is on the fucked up side right now. Taking action with corporate looking over our neck hairs is career suicide."

"I know." Nick understood. "That's why I'm taking some time off to get whatever Intel I can on where the gas's origins come from. Josh, Mickey sealed his fate when he harmed Cayla, and I wasn't there to stop it. I'll be careful."

Before the gas outbreak, Nick was the energetic one of all the Team Members. Motivated and a people person, he had the ability to lift everyone's spirits to get them through the grueling routines of guest appraisal and running all over the place to meet the demands of the day. Even with his motivation intact, a part of him didn't care if Corporate found out about his little investigation. He knew the risks if gotten caught, but from what Cayla told him of what happened to S.K. it drove him further to bring down the Hendersons by any means necessary. He didn't have the physical prowess, but that was an advantage on his side.

He was quick, able to slip in and out of places without anyone noticing. Well, if _Hitman_ taught him anything is to never leave a trail of telegraphed steps. The whole twenty minutes talking to Josh, he still wasn't sold on Nick going out and getting hurt. Staten Island was only a Sunday Drive for him. All it took was a measure of wit… and a second person with more experience. Lucky for him however, he recalled a certain "con" man he'd be willing to sway to tag along.

Swollen chrome domes, cuts and bruises, and a sore back could bench most people. When Marianne got the news she wasn't paralyzed from the waist down, her relief was indescribable. She had nothing personal against disabled people, but the thought of no feeling in her legs left her enjoying stale grape jell-0, and her disdain for the taste of grape was well-known. The night before she was to be released from Raritan Memorial, she pulled out all the stops on social media after being out of commission for an entire week. Facebook, Facetime, Instagram, you name it she owed it to herself to remind everyone she was on the mend although Cayla was on top of it.

She visited Marianne four times, talking about other subjects other than what happened at the store. They spent their time taking hospital selfies and sneaking in brownies that didn't taste like drywall. Throughout these visits Marianne had one rant she couldn't seem to get herself off of. Netflix can do that to a person, but the online rumors of a continuation of a 90's family show _Full House_ drove her to the temptation of ordering the entire series on DVD off Amazon. When Cayla walked in on the fourth night with a blue bag in hand, her eyes lit up the same way a little kid opens his first gift on Christmas morning.

"You didn't have to do that! I fucking love you so much, girl." Marianne hugged her. " _Full House_ is the greatest invention along with Nutella."

"Ha, don't I know it." Cayla smiled. "You don't suppose-

"I wouldn't." She replied with dread. "I've heard stories of a patient pranking another patient by putting a laxative in a Nutella jar. Before that, they were going to replace chocolate pudding with Nutella spread. It's processed stuff they serve now; eugh!"

"I tried it once."

"The cheap stuff, my dear dimply child you have much to learn about the appreciation of quality cocoa stuffs!"

"I _did_ have the name brand, silly!" She chuckled as Marianne looked over the DVDs. "$40 for the entire set at FYE. Sorry they didn't have a John Stamos poster in there; the one when he had hair back then."

"Mary forgives. He ages like fine wine so I'm content." She replied before rolling her eyes. "Fuuuuck, can't wait to get outta here."

"I know hon, just one more day. Lauren misses you like crazy. Then there's Josh, Kevin, Kyle, Alyse and Nick waiting for you, too. But… it's safe to say our days at the store are numbered."

Marianne subdued her excitement for the moment as she sat up in bed and spoke, "What Mickey did to us, to S.K."

"S.K. is innocent, we all know that. Don't do that to yourself." Cayla insisted. "Besides, pretty soon I'll be going to school full time and start building up a career for myself. Plus, Nick wants to look into the Henderson operation."

"He wants to do _what_ now?!" She flabbergasted.

"I know right? I tried talking him out of it, but I've never seen him like this. I'm worried about him."

"Girl, you gotta reel him in before he gets hurt, or worse. If not, I'll go over to whatever bunghole Mickey's livin' in and straighten his bitch ass out myself!"

Cayla placed both hands on Marianne's shoulders and stressed, "Okay, breathe in, breathe out, you don't think I want the same thing? This gas outbreak rattled all of us, especially Nick. We need a new tactic."

"That's why I'm telling you, sister to sister, to be careful if and when those Henderson douches hit us again." She replied holding Cayla's hand tight. "I can't afford to lose you, babe. Be safe out there."

In Blue Bulls-Eye or out in the world's harsh reality, as hollow as it may be to some, close friends can be paramount to surviving one day to the next. The concept of friendship is never always clear; working with the right people helps too. However, in this day and age who are the right people? Marianne has been working at the store for the past four years as Cayla clocked in two, same as Mickey Henderson. Once you're hired, you're released into the retail jungle looking for a safe zone.

For Cayla, she has had some close calls in overwhelming situations with guests and adapting to store policy. That was when Marianne came in and offered a helping hand. She tried her hand in a number of areas: Cashier, Guest Service, the Photo Lab, it couldn't have been a more perfect time to train a new generation into the fold. At the time when she started, Marianne wanted to groom her into a clone version of herself. Cayla was her first trainee and naturally became nervous on whether she'll pick up the skills quickly, but working with her felt like they have known each other for years.

Whenever their schedules permitted, they would switch hours and have each other's backs if a guest became hostile over a trivial matter. One of the trivial matters somehow became a huge problem when Mickey entered the picture. As he would make abundantly clear to his fellow Team Members, he was a sucker for a pretty face. The mystery behind his family would soon be discovered if Nick had anything to say about it. Knowing what S.K. went through for no reason, although apprehensive of what she would be walking into, she owed it to her friend to find out why he was chosen to be "possessed" by the gas. And with Marianne backing her, the tough road ahead would be worth it.

12


	4. Chapter 4: I know a Con-Man

How is a Con Man defined? If one googles the exact name, they would be scrolling all day to fine a definitive response to that question. Now granted, someone who works in an office or stocking toys won't give this question a second or third thought. TV watchers would just go on their I-pads, download the USA Now App and watch a show called _White Collar_ ; a sophisticated con-artist who works with the FBI to stop other con-artists from stealing priceless artifacts. It was a procedural drama with a pinch of comedy for sure, but what about real world cons?

Summertime in the Garden State doesn't always expand luxury for the more underground types. James Sarandon took pride in being a nerd in the superhero culture as well as being a creature of the force. Like any person looking to add substance to their man caves, James started out with a cabinet of old DC comics and a good ear for radio contests. A sane radio host wouldn't even think of putting something like a lifetime pass to Comic Book Conventions, but good timing brought James in front of his computer and entered the contest online. Reaching the end of May 2014, weeks of anticipating the winner and stocking up on protective measures from the nerdy lynch mob, his name was called out.

The only thing he ever won in his life was debates of Star Wars trivia as well as which Robin in the Batman universe rang champion. His excitement materialized into a small career of sorts, collecting pieces of hero memorabilia such as the Riddler's Cane and Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Mask. However, the approach to "collecting" these trophies weren't easy by a stretch. The Comic-Cons he went to in Colorado, California, and his birthplace in New York he developed an eye for security movements and mapping out how many people flock to a certain booth. Twenty-two chances, twenty-two heart pounding attempts, swiping the Riddler Cane with a forged one he and a few friends made proved to be riskier than sneaking in a selfie shot of a Wonder Woman cosplayer.

Before he knew it, James's man cave was a sight to behold. It was his personal escape from the eye rolling situations he endured at Target. Working in hard lines for three years was no picnic. Hardly anything interesting or nail biting took place except for the occasional parent yelling at their child for the entire store to hear. When June 2015 came a knocking, so did a rare gem gone missing from his man cave. The number of people who knew where he lived was counted on his left hand: his mom, his three best friends, and… a lightbulb lit up in his head as to who may have taken it.

There were two types of neighbors in this world: those who mind their own business and those who can't resist temptation. In laymen's terms, it was known as Tuna Casserole Syndrome. One introductory visit with baked goods was a sign of respect in most neighborhoods; 18 was a bit reaching in James's domain. And to add insult to a brownnoser, Sylvester had an obsession with actor Josh Brolin. 18 occasions, eight random and ten family outings, Sylvester had tours around the man cave. While the majority of it was devoted to DC Comics, there were two prized trinkets lifted from the lot.

One was an autographed picture of Marvel Comics villain, Thanos, signed by Josh Brolin himself. The other was a pristine replica of a golden gauntlet. NYC Comic Con 2013 wasn't exactly a kind year to James, especially when buying the Infinity Gauntlet and none of the stones to complete it. Nevertheless, ebay was aching for a bidding war in this age of Superhero movies; _Avengers_ being a hot commodity. James arranged a meet with Sylvester at the Menlo Park Mall in Woodbridge, NJ three weeks before the heatwave hit the state. Being a young man of scenery, he originally wanted to meet him in Wildwood where some ghetto video game swap meet was taking place.

That was when he had a hankering for a chicken sandwich and a thirst for negotiation. He texted Sylvester with subtle anticipation and waited for him at the food court. It was public and had a number of ways to make a hasty escape. After over a dozen visits, James learned a thing or two about him. He had a Kevin Smith look about him minus the cool factor and TV show publicity, but he gave credit where it was due. James was territorial when it came to positioning action figures the right way and organizing comics in chronological order.

Waiting for him to turn up, he popped out a special Batman comic and read it for fifteen minutes before his nose caught a whiff of vanilla extract. That, and combined with breaded steak he was just about ready to puke.

"What's up, James?" He asked holding his left hand out.

"Hope you didn't drink and drive here, man." James replied shaking his hand.

"Knock it off, it was twice I brought over my special vodka. Your boy Colton said it was the shit."

"Aaaaaand after him getting cuffed for indecent exposure over your dare, he's no longer my "boy"." He sighed, putting his comic in his backpack. "Let's get down to business."

"We could've done this over a Starbucks or at your man cave. Why're we meetin' here?"

"I like the ambiance and Chick Fil' A." James replied. "We've known each other quite well, wouldn't you say?"

"Dude, just get to it; don't ask me why, but I'm feelin' some third degree wafting this way."

"The Infinity Gauntlet of Thanos and Josh Brolin's autograph. We're meeting here because today marks the year and a half anniversary since you moved into my neighborhood."

"What about the gauntlet? I held it but I never took it."

"Is that how we're playing it?" James fired back. "What about your disabled mother's rainy day fund? She always bragged about using the money to buy a house on the beach."

Sylvester tightened his eyes and bit his tongue before saying something he was going to regret. Normally, he was the type to speak his mind but cops were roaming around the food court like a prison mess hall. "As if we don't have enough fuckin' security." He thought. Trash talk of a parent could spark any child's ire, but Sylvester's poker face broadcasted a slow rain fall from his forehead. He talked back, "What about my ma? She's still saving up after six years."

"I hate to do this to you, but her fund is shy of $325. Remember the family cookout some time ago? Getting a beach house in Cancun isn't a short order. She was saving every penny she had until money suddenly disappeared from her dark green tool box. The working world is a picky bitch these days, Sly."

"You better watch yourself, Jimbo." He spoke with a threatening tone. "What you know and what you can prove rarely mesh. You know what? I'm out. Thanks for wasting my fucking time."

As he got up from his seat and started walking away, James spat out a number any random person would reply with "Polo!" as in Marco Polo. Knowing Ebay's reputation, James estimated the final bid on the Infinity Gauntlet alone; eight thousand dollars. The sweet sound of eight stacks had Sylvester slouch his shoulders and sat before James with a simple retort, "What're you proposing?"

"You can walk away with a clear conscience, brother. Ebay can be a magical place when it comes to Marvel merchandise. I know some people who would buy the gauntlet at top dollar. You sell it online and I'll make sure you get that eight grand plus interest in your mother's tool box."

"Okay, hold on, hold on. What's the catch here?"

"Clear conscience or, he said before pausing, do you _really_ wanna know the alternative?"

When it comes to learning the fundamentals of negotiation, if one can get the other to listen and by extension add a counteroffer, you better make sure your homework behind it is ace. The life of a Con Man is both a thrilling and heart racing venture. This was his second time negotiating priceless collectibles; whether he knew he was going to put eight grand into that tool box was a 50/50 gamble. Progress breeds more progress until the illusion of perfection is achieved. South Jersey became more and more of a hot headed place than what the summer weather gave it credit for. Two and a half weeks since Target lost credibility to keep its people safe, Corporate sent over an additional twenty security guards to oversee not just store operations, but their warehouse as well.

No stone or canister was going to be left unturned if Corporate had anything to say about it. The Offsite Warehouse had to make a rough transition into new truck routes and carry minimal deliveries as possible. Josh caught onto this detail looking into the Henderson profiles. Legitimacy in illegal drug distribution was clouded in second born son, Corkscrew. His government name was Maurice, but being well-versed in keeping the literal wheels of gas manufacturing turning, it was rumored he returned to the old Boarding House in Staten Island to keep a close watch on Mickey.

Don't let the name "Corkscrew" fool you. His older brother and younger sister Bentley and Alanna were the first three kids who didn't have a screw loose. That was, until the Henderson Patriarch Jed instilled keeping their bloodline "pure". On a regular day, Josh kept the opinion of such things to himself because there were more dire things happening in the world. If what he read about Corkscrew was true, he was the first Henderson to go to prison for Bentley after some grudge revenge on a Wall Street mongrel and his five mistresses. Prison twists a person's soul. Mickey took inspiration from that and twisted it, watered it down to make it sound like he was tough.

The more he thought about it, Josh felt Target asked for this big transition to happen. Although he didn't interview Mickey for the Market Department, it was still unacceptable that his background check wasn't thorough enough. Even in the profiles, no one in the family had any experience forging aliases to throw retail stores off track. It still boggled his mind how he was able to have seven different lives, just as convincing as the last. He spent his lunch break at Wegmans having a slice of pizza, thinking over how he was going to convince Corporate for things to go back to the way they used to be. Matt came over with a Dr. Pepper in hand and said, "Jesus Josh, you keep staring at those mug shots you'll go crazy."

"This whole transition with the store has been batshit crazy." He replied before raising his eyebrows. "Have a seat. Funny story, back when I was in college people used to call me "Jesus Josh" because of my long hair back then."

"Ha, shit I can see that." Matt said looking at his short hairstyle.

"Thank god I cut it before graduating. Hair product was a dime a dozen in my time. If you say what I think you're gonna say…"

Matt scrunched up his mouth to hold back any laughter before saying, "Nope, wouldn't dream of it. Anyway, I've been puttin' the fear of "you" into Thaddeus-

"Fear of whom?" Josh picked up.

"Fear of god. We came to an arrangement. Since we have Corporate Security patrolling the store's perimeter, I suggested we send some of them over to the Offsite. Phil wasn't keen on the idea."

"What did he say?"

"All he said was he feared his best driver was going to quit on him and it might shove the Flow Team right into the striking phase. I can talk to Rick; see if I can delay the strike 'till you, Jim and Lisa come back from Corporate next week."

"Jim's not going." He replied. "He finally got ahold of Lieutenant Adamo and re-opened the Henderson case. At least we'll have some trusting eyes on this thing."

"Hey, we're taking initiative." Matt acknowledged. "Is it true, about another Henderson taking up residence in Elizabeth? The news isn't saying much. It could be Mickey planning another gas attack."

"That's the thing. No one knows where he is. Staten Island is another red flag, too." He said handing Matt the files. "Take a look."

Flipping through the papers, he came across a picture that looked to be taken by a cellphone. The boarding house in it was wide; nearly a dozen windows and six points of entry. Being the least populated New York borough of the five boroughs, the Henderson family had more room to breathe as well as manufacture their Soul Leaping gas. One thing didn't add up however. Another file indicated the gas was first conceived in South Jersey. It was then tested on an isolated area in Eatontown where Lyle Henderson and his wife Leah were taking a Sunday drive.

But where did the unsolved police murders began both Matt and Josh wondered? He hoped Jim would find some more information on that front; any chance to get away from the store would be a vacation in itself. The boarding house was fitted to be condemned back in 2008, but to this day it still stood in all its haunted house glory. What was more surprising was when Josh told him, "You know Nick, one of the cashiers up front?"

"Novoa right, he's a good kid. What about him?"

"I need you to keep an eye on him. He told me he was going to conduct an investigation of his own. I don't want him getting captured by Mickey or one of his kin."

"Are you serious right now; the hell is he thinking?!"

"I've known Nick long enough for him not to rush into anything. He'll want to look at all the angles before he proceeds."

"Is one of those angles Cayla?" Matt asked as Josh nodded "yes". "Well, shit… I'll make sure neither of them gets taken. You have my word."

Changes swept through the store like revolving doors, but that didn't stop the month of July being the busiest time of the summer. Even after the fireworks performed their light show, red, white and blue still patrolled the Manalapan area thanks to Jim finally reaching out to Lieutenant Adamo. The internal operations of the day ran its usual clockwork method with guards checking people at the door and searching packaged grills for any surprises. Any gasoline based products that were being sold were taken out as well, rustling more than a few guest feathers in the rotation. If there was one thing guests hated more than waiting in line for a hot dog at the café, was not having a certain item their website claimed to be stocked.

There was nothing new about hot heads causing a few arguments both at the registers and Guest Service area. Luckily, Target's top Team Members made their return into the bullseye bullpen; Marianne especially. Walking in with Cayla, she still kept to her cane and had a surprised look on her face at how much the store had changed since being on the mend. A half-baked thought crossed her mind that wanted her to walk into the Team Service Center, put in her resignation and walk away. Hospital bills played the hypnotist game in having her stick around for financial sake. Cayla on the other hand, by some miracle she was able to get in touch with Matthew from Human Resources to reduce her hours so she could invest more time studying for her entrance exam at TCNJ.

She took a deep breath and asked Marianne, "Ready to get back at it, babe?"

"Yeah…" She spoke as they walked. "Much has changed in just a short amount of time. Have you reached out to either S.K. or Scotty?"

"Scott's brother Lawrence took him home a few days before you did. His ribs were still sore. He's going to need more time healing."

"And the "other thing" we talked about?" Marianne implied.

"Nick's workin' today so I'm sure I'll run into him." Cayla said as she noticed a frenzy cooking up at Guest Service. "Lauren is taking the new adjustments well."

"The more shit changes around here, the guests stay the same. I'm gonna punch in, see you a minute."

It was strange seeing Guest Service being the only department that didn't change under corporate prodding. To some Team Members, it felt like a separate place from the store, like a joint DMV but instead of handing out licenses, they were being verified as fake ID's and dealing with the backtalk of online orders that were never made. On a routine day or root canal to those who work there, there were three types of guests that never failed to be consistent: the average Joe and Jane offering their dose of common courtesy to their fellow employee, the typical angry customer, and the Shakespearean characters. The third latter were a dime a dozen in Target, but every once in a while either Lauren, Alyse, or Marianne would get that one guest who not only makes a ridiculous story of how they ordered something online, but would make a scene to boost their egos to "jackass status". Sometimes it provided amusement, others not so much, and on rare occasions they can be head scratchers.

This one oriental family kicked off the Shakespeare card by explaining to Lauren about fish tacos. Cayla dashed into the holding area of Guest Service to pick up a MyDevice scanner and checked her schedule to see where she was going to be at for the day. "Too bad…" She thought, seeing she was a Cashier and a line was forming with barbecue grills. She gave Lauren a friendly nod as she reached her hand out, silently begging for help. That was when the banter between customer and employee raised a few octaves before things started blowing way out of proportion.

The Corporate Guards present couldn't find it within themselves to assist with their hands full checking items at the exit. Not even Thaddeus wanted to chime into the fish drama. Alyse on the other hand couldn't get a word in edgewise over a young mother, her partner and five kids screaming all over the place. If there was aspirin to drown out nails on a chalkboard, Pharmacy was keeping it hush-hush. Yep, a normal day in Target is a day in hell in the summertime. LODs Mary, Lisa, and Matthew came from the school supply section to put the other Team Members at ease on the registers, moving the guests at a steady pace as Marianne ran towards Guest Service to see a red-faced Lauren on the cusp of a serious meltdown.

It took her a few seconds, but she remembered Josh using an old megaphone on the night of the incident. It still sat comfortably behind the Jewelry counter. With a jolt of determination flowing in her body she sighed, "Time to shut this BS down." She marched past impeding guests and into the jaw of entitlement and hollow threats shouting, "Attention everybody!" The drama ensued, causing her to scream, "EVERYONE! SHUT _UP_ AND LISTEN! We understand the difficulties you have to abide by in Target. No one feels that sting more than us Team Members. We have to adapt to Corporate's new rules just as you have to adapt to the new changes. This will not last forever, that much we know so far, but please! _Please_ try to work with us. We're short-staffed as it is-

"Marianne!" An old, yet spry voice called out.

Target flourished in their business model for the past fourteen years. Guests came in all shapes and sizes. From bleeding hearts like Thaddeus to long time shoppers like Angie, it was a breath of fresh air to the Team Members someone like her can simmer a heated discourse. Luck was an uncommon affair in the store, and the people around Guest Service learned quick to know a thing or two from Angie. She had a mutual respect with all the Team Members she came across, but Marianne and Nick were her personal favorites when it came to exchanging items and what egg beaters to buy. In appearance, she had a quiet way about her, and you know what they say about the quiet ones: sometimes their knowledge can match the wisdom of Master Yoda.

"Angie, Marianne said as she went and hugged her, it's been so long!"

"I came on a good day." She smiled before turning her attention to everyone else. "Fourteen years I've shopped here, and nothing's changed. How is it you can do your taxes on time out there, but not know what a gift card looks like in _here_? Any of you watch _Breaking Bad_ ; maybe you should lay off the blue magic and take a class on store etiquette."

"We know all about etiquette!" The oriental man said. "My family and I just want fish tacos. This woman-

Angie chuckled as both she and Marianne shook their heads in disbelief before firing back, "My late husband was blind, sir. If he hungered for a "fish" taco, he'd go to the Jersey Shore. Thank god that show ended…"

"We don't understand…"

"Son, there's a Bonefish Grill across the way." She pointed to the exit. "Be merry on aquatic life elsewhere. As for the rest of you, this girl right here, Lauren and Alyse, they toil through the mental strains to make your lives easier. How'd you like it if someone from Target waltzes into your place of business, and gives _you_ a hard time? Well, don't be quiet now." She said sarcastically. "I assume most of you have jobs that require tequila shots afterwards?"

"This just went from 0 to a hunnit _reeeeeeal_ quick." Lauren told Alyse.

"I love her. If only she can adopt me…"

Marianne took over and spoke, "Those who have a legit reason to be at Guest Service, break up into lines of two. This is civility hour, people!"

It took some doing and a constipated mug or two, but in a disorderly fashion they formed two lines waiting to either return something or pick up an online order. Under the circumstances, it was days like these Marianne was grateful to know some guests were worth servicing to. Angie felt her work was done as she reminded Marianne to keep on being a bullseye bad ass in crimson red. As the front of the store slipped back into normal dealings, the bath accessories/bedding section ran its usual course of packing out items and stocking them on the shelves. It was later on in the day when Nick came in and saw flats and three tier carts full of Sterilite boxes waiting to be packed out. He pretended to look busy as the four corporate guards oversaw the work with a close eye; James in particular wasn't pleased.

Nearly three weeks in and from his point of view, the guards acted like they had more authority than any of the LODs present. Stocking one of the aisles with plastic bins, one guard caught his eye with two strung out ones staring back at him. James immediately pulled his attention away and continued stocking when the guard Connor felt the need to exercise his right to be a protruding hard ass towards him. The other Team Members kept to their work with an unsettling nerve circulating inside of them. It was one thing for Thaddeus to shove a pregnant lady on the floor in the middle of a grill sale; it was another to intimidate a member of Target itself.

Another character trait of James was that on the surface he wasn't afraid to stare down the soulless iris of another human being. However, knowing his rare occurrences of confronting those who steal from him, throwing the first punch wasn't his strongest suit. Connor appeared in the form of a marine on his male period; James could smell the testosterone as if he was standing in the cereal section from Market.

"Excuse me, got a problem here?" Connor asserted.

James lifted a Sterilite box and replied dismissively, "No, no problem here."

"Are you sure red shirt? 'Cause the eyeballing BS is getting tiresome for me. You think we like babysitting you Target guys? Huh? Threats happen every day." He expressed as he got closer to James. "I used to snipe sadists outside their homes in Iraq. Then, when I come home I see my two older brothers gassed with the same shit that took place here."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I'm just trying to do my work here. I don't want any trouble, sir."

"Sir", "sir", "please don't bother me. I stare at guys for a livin', sir!" I got news for you. The next person who thinks about smuggling gas to this place or anywhere else, is gonna get a-

"Connor, Thaddeus shouted at him, what's going on?!"

He pulled away from his presence and demanded, "I would like to keep a close eye on this one."

"You'll do _no_ such thing. Mary insists Electronics needs to be looked after now that S.K. is out." He insisted. "Go!"

First it was Thad who lost someone to the Soul Leaping gas, now it was Connor. Is all Corporate Security afflicted from the outbreak he wondered? Thaddeus apologized to James for his behavior and watched over bath accessories for the time being. Nick never made a sound or provocation the entire time, all while itching to get to James on his expertise. With a MyDevice in hand he scanned a black garbage pail and brought it over to where James was. From there, he attempted an impromptu dialogue while Thaddeus wasn't looking.

"Goddamn tightwads, the lot of 'em." Nick spoke.

"They don't bother me as much. I know they won't be here for much longer. Some part of me has to believe that." He replied placing four bins on a bottom shelf. "Marianne seems to be in higher spirits. Did you see what happened up front?"

"Yeah, you gotta love Angie to drop the truth hammer every once in a while." Both laughed. "Listen man, I need your help."

"It's nice to be needed." He acknowledged. "Can you talk in code?"

Nick looked behind him as he saw a couple of Team Members walking past the plastic aisle. Turning back he responded, "I understand you have a particular set of skills."

"I'm no Liam Neeson, but whenever some casual praises the Transformers movies, or "Bayformers" as I'd like to call them, my voice drops an octave. It's no secret outside Target I have a rep for acquiring certain trinkets."

"That's why I'm trenched with you. The news media's been talking about one of the Hendersons moving into Elizabeth, NJ to set up a new shop. As far as I know, their alma mater is in a boarding house in Staten Island."

"So what do you need from me?"

"I was wonderin' if you could take a ride with me and Cayla. Josh has been looking over those police files with a fine toothed comb since S.K. went ballistic."

"I've been to Staten Island a couple times; traffic's horrible." James brought up. "I ah, I can't get involved right now. That strung out security guard scowlin' earlier… he has it out for me for some strange reason."

"I think he has it out for everyone." Nick said. "Just yesterday, he was lecturing Chad in the Backroom about cleanliness in the 200's section. Chad tuned him out though, but the overnight crew is on edge." Guests came walking in their aisle browsing as Nick and James kept their mouths shut for ten minutes, only to open to answer a specific question. It became well-known at this point, but for Nick it astounded him the store wasn't shut down like Corporate intended. He only had the whispers of the LOD's to go on, that Josh had a case to present to the higher-ups that Target's biggest mishap would never be repeated.

Never say never though, right Nick thought? When the aisle cleared once more, they moved to a different aisle stocking welcome mats and rugs. Nick went on, "So as I was saying, I plan on taking some time off to investigate the Henderson house, see if we can better understand who they are."

"Nick, I hear what you're saying, but think about what you're doing. It's freaking suicide." James insisted.

"Even with all his fuck ups, Mickey somehow always got his way. What if he plants another gas canister in your house, or mine, or even goes after Cayla's loved ones?" He paused for a second. "All I'm saying, if there is a slim chance to halt their gas operation, I have to take it with absolute certainty. But I can't do it alone. You come with me on this trip, we peek around for any clues we can find. Either way, I'm not losing anyone I care about…"

Nick was afraid of the unknown. He usually had his two older brothers' march into a situation before he was given the all-clear. That was during his childhood days. Now, he was a young man about to graduate High School with an ambition to become an Engineer for computers. Knowing it would be suicide to take on the Henderson operation alone, the only thing that was keeping him from pissing himself was Cayla. Like S.K., Nick had gotten along with everybody, but she was the one who stole his heart in a big way.

They started out as friends, then when Mickey had the same heart skipping feeling for her he wasted no time trying to shoehorn into their friendship. The natural reaction would be to get a restraining order; create a wide chasm between the teen and the thirty year old man with a temper. However, Cayla had this mentality of how her life was going to turn out better than Mickey's. All she had to do was stay the course she was on, gather some money for a gun permit and all would be fine. In Nick's situation, seeing Mickey again in the hospital nearly sent him into a blind rage hidden behind his glasses, but stooping to his level wasn't the answer either he thought.

Both had a lot of drive in making their mark on the world just like any other teenager. It was just a matter of surviving the trials ahead to get to that point; another motive that pushed him into going to Staten Island in the first place. Almost 3:00 in the afternoon, lunch hour swiftly approached for a few of the corporate guards. Thaddeus didn't care for Luke warm hot wings at Wegman's which only brought him to his only love when it came to retail sustenance; pretzels. He ate outside the TSC doors on one of the red benches enjoying his pretzel when Connor decided to do the same thing.

It was a hot afternoon to boot. Connor wasn't the type of person to admit his faults; at least not right away. He had been on Corporate's radar for some time due to lashing out and even speaking against his superiors. Time in the Middle East can change people, but for Thaddeus his ears drifted from hearing such an excuse. He walked over with a hot pretzel and asked, "Mind if I sit?"

"This isn't High School, man." Thaddeus retorted. "There's no such thing as the "cool kids bench".

"Yeah…" He said, sitting next to him, looking out at the parking lot. "Look, I won't sit here and apologize for what I did. I'm sure you're tired of hearin' it at this point."

"… This has to stop, Connor." He said chewing a piece of pretzel. "Corporate is looking for new faces for the security force. I can't keep vouching for you to stay on."

"Wouldn't expect you too, I fucked all my chances being in this line of work. When I see-what's his face, the one I yelled at in hard lines?"

"His name is James. He was one of the few who saw the gas face-to-face."

"Shit… I know we're obligated to keep this store safe when their own security can't, but this gas, man… those Hendersons will get theirs before the year is through. I owe Tyler and Vince that."

"Your brothers were good kids. I wonder what drove the Hendersons to kill 'em off." Thaddeus said, drinking his soda. "Look, I feel it too. My cousin Julie… she traveled for work. Her husband didn't like that. He wanted her to stay close. She ah, had a conference up in Oregon, but she caught a stomach bug the day before. I skyped her that night, told her to stay home. From what I understand, this shit kicker Corkscrew, he developed a taste for home invasions. Her head was split in half by that orange stuff."

Connor took a big sigh as he tried to embrace what Thaddeus was saying, "Damn man. You never told that story to anyone."

"That's why I'm tellin' you." He assured him. "As much as I wanna go after Corkscrew and his estranged relatives, and I could… but I can't. Not only will Corporate not allow it, we'd be committing career suicide 'cause that's how fucked up the system operates."

"We'll see how it turns out. Sooner or later though… this mess is only gonna get worse."

There were various cogs being put in place of a large wheel. No matter what shape they were implemented however, the wheel could not turn the way it was supposed to. Mickey Henderson ignited something through the possession of someone else, all because he thought with his heart and used a variation of his family's recipe to pull it off. All unfortunate parties involved didn't know the future. These days, people can wake up half expecting their world to take a dark spin and spiral down without end. From what Josh and Matt read, the family patriarch Jed Henderson was a pillar of conviction and had a fist for keeping his business alive.

Six offspring, all involved in some aspect of Soul Leaping. How they were going to be dealt with was even a tougher pill to swallow, but rushing into it was something Nick kept in perspective. By the time 7:30 came around, he decided to treat Cayla to ice cream at a Cold Stone shop in Freehold. The ride over was an uneasy one; neither had any idea what to say other than the task at hand. From Cayla's perspective, she noticed a guilty weight placed on his shoulders that he wasn't there the night of the incident.

He wasn't much of a fighter. Then again, with enough anger anyone can do something that would make looking in the mirror somehow worth it. Some part of her wished she could have done more as well. You don't count much on Team Members being your "friends", even what happened to S.K. she wanted to drive a few more left hooks into his skull until she couldn't see Mickey in his eyes anymore. All the same, James helping them or not, both wanted to be a sound mind in what they were about to do.

Cayla put aside her ice cream and said, "Nick, we need to talk."

"I agree." He nodded. "Cayla, do you remember the first time you met Mickey?"

"… We are _not_ doing this again."

"Please, I need to know." He subtly begged her.

"Why? Nick, all the shit he pulled being an employee, the constant flirting with me… I want him gone just as much as you do. But I have to understand you're going into this for the right reasons."

"I'm clear to my purpose." He spoke plainly.

"I can tell when you're lying." She suspected. "You've been talking to Marianne. I get it. She cares about both of us. Nick, you do realize the incident wasn't your fault? Remember the end of May? The clearance sales, the long hours you took leading up to mid-June with only one day off in between-

"I've confronted Mickey." He admitted straight out.

"Okay… when?"

"It was when I visited Marianne in the hospital. She was in a deep sleep and he somehow slipped past security. Next thing I knew we were in the parking lot. He kept talking about how the world was gonna change, and there was nothing we could do to stop it."

"That's cryptic, even for Mickey's outlandish tales." She replied.

"I should've decked him. Truth is… I really like you Cayla. I'm looking into how to stop the Hendersons by bringing them down from the inside. That's why we're headin' to Staten Island. I need to find a wrinkle somewhere so I can exploit it." He explained as he held her hand and looked in her eyes. "I'm not perfect, and to be honest… I'm scared shitless of this whole thing."

"Aw, Nick. The things Mickey used to do shock all of us, but S.K. was the final straw. I couldn't sleep or talk to anyone other than Mary or my grandmother." She acknowledged. "Least we're both scared shitless together."

An unsuspecting visit came from Target's number one behind the scenes, go-to guy for anything comic book related. Before they left, Nick texted James on where he and Cayla were going to be hanging out in case he changed his mind on helping them with the investigation. As fate would have it, James was in the neighborhood looking for a mint chocolate cone with gummy worms on top. After such a delectable treat was delivered into his hands, his change of heart came as a relief to Nick's ears. He pulled up a chair next to them and asked, "What's up peeps?"

"Damn it!" Cayla said looking at his ice cream. "Those bastards were hiding the gummy worms this whole time."

"Not really." He replied pulling out a bag of gummy worms. "How can you run out of the stuff when a Walgreens sells them across the street?"

"Exactly, that and Reese's cups. I'm sitting here like, "Get your shit together Cold Stone haha!" She joked.

"What's good man, I assume you gave it some more thought?" Nick asked.

"I have… I've decided to tag along on a few conditions: this investigation you're doing, the news said another Henderson was sighted leaving the Boarding house a few hours ago."

"Mickey…?" Nick said.

"No, this one was female. They didn't say her name." James replied.

"It seems like they're crawling out of the shadows. They must've heard what happened to us. Speaking of which, I'll have to see Josh about those police files."

"Does the poor guy even sleep?" Cayla interjected. "His goatee has turned into mutton chops and was acting strange the other day."

"We're taking a huge chance in looking at their haunted abode." James said. "If shit comes to fan, I know a guy who knows a series of other guys that can help us. Cayla, I assume Nick told you about my other activities?"

"You love going to comic book conventions?" She asked.

Suddenly, he brought the group in close and whispered, "I have a talent for conning special items of superhero memorabilia. It's… illegal and legal at the same time. I'll explain more when we leave, but whatever we do in Staten Island can _not_ come back to Target. If anyone questions you, you two don't know me from a hole in the ground. And if you even mention my name, I'll disappear. I know places without extradition." He stressed as Nick and Cayla looked at him cross-eyed. "Okay, I don't. Point is we keep this venture between us. If we start bringing in other people…"

"We got it." She assured him. "So when do we leave?"

"Early." Nick replied. "We get on a subway to Staten Island this Saturday morning, 'round 7:30. Remember guys, pack light and keep details to a minimum about all this. It's time we understand what we're dealin' with."

"Agreed; James, what would this other guy you know bring to the table?" Cayla asked.

If only James's inside source was a walking machine of Chick Fil-A and ambient lighting, he wouldn't have stretched his neck so far out to meet him at the Menlo Park Mall some time back. It takes a bold person to threaten another with only bluffs on his side. Before James encountered his anxious neighbor, he did a thorough background check on him. Apart from being a Josh Brolin fanatic, he developed a hatred for the live action Green Lantern movie. Unlike James and his non-discrimination for hero cons, Sylvester had a territorial approach on how to procure the genuine articles from their glass boxes.

His last lift took seven years to plan and put into motion. It was his fifth con in his sixth Comic Convention. From the Infinity Gauntlet to a damaged piece of Lex Luthor's mech suit, there was no denying his man cave was shaping up to be a nerd's paradise. Too bad his character and shifty conscience drove him to pawning off his cons for cash. Apparently, the green power ring was worth a fortune in shady circles.

James spent several weeks learning everything there was to know about the way Sylvester worked, all the way down to four, exquisitely made suits that would make voice actor Kevin Conroy have a heart attack. No quality trade was going to be convincing enough James thought at the time. When it came to comic book events, he usually spent them either by himself or with his small circle of friends. He had to resort to brokering an unorthodox partnership to keep each other honest about their "hobbies".

"Bro, take it easy." Sylvester said to diffuse the situation. "We both have our vices. Let's not involve the cops."

"There's eight grand for your penance… plus interest." He replied after thinking about it. "I understand you have four battle suits that belong to the Bat Family: Bruce Wayne obviously, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon and Katherine Kane."

"Batwoman's my favorite; I got all four so?"

"I hope you sealed them off. The cost to even lease one of 'em is ridiculous; CEO bonus pay. I also understand you are very good with your hands. Perhaps we can build something together, wow comic casuals and bring the booth babes to us."

"Sounds too good to be true, but my ma wouldn't allow it. One of those suits would take care of her for the rest of her life. And I live on my own." He made clear.

"I know. I ran a background check on you." James admitted.

"Then you know I take my passion and my family's well-being very seriously. The last girlfriend I had converted to Marvel when Chris Hemsworth was casted as "Thor". The Bat Family stands the test of time in the comics, the Robins especially."

"I myself am a Dick Grayson fan. Let's try this. We share a Chick Fil-A feast, trade comic book secrets and get a feel for each other. If it works out, we can be partners for the next "con". What do you say?"

Rubbing his scruffy chin and intensely observing James to see if there was a "tell" on his face, the aroma of chili dogs and chicken sandwiches swayed his decision when he said, "You pay for the meal, I'll show you the suits. Throw in a cookie and I'll let you read a Batwoman comic without me silently judging your page turning technique."

"Deal…" James smiled, shaking his hand.

16


	5. Chapter 5: Fortune and Misfortune

The Henderson bloodline didn't stem from royalty, or a lineage of thieves. Like most families in the early '70s era they were carefree, and worshipped John Lennon like he was Jesus with a guitar. Lyle Henderson didn't have that luxury however. Being a young man going on eighteen, his "humble beginnings" derived from a part-time waiter job in Soho, New York. Every day after school in clockwork fashion, he took the orders of hungry patrons to being barked at by his mother and father. They were as strict as they came in those days.

His father Luther played the role of dishwasher in the back of a meatball sub diner while the mother took a number of jobs to keep the lights on. Babysitter, taxi driver, home maker, Lyle didn't exactly have the picture perfect family black and white TV's portrayed. It was something darker than that. At times when he would walk home from work, he would stroll around for half an hour to witness people getting high in a street corner or blasting music in apartment buildings. It wasn't made obvious to him at the time, but three years working in the diner he had some notion of an honest dollar; it began and ended there, driving him mad.

His tightly wounded life wasn't without reason; Soho being a breeding ground for tossed needles and people walking like zombies. One night, Lyle just about had it with routine and seeing his mother working herself to the bone. Was there ever any shred of happiness in the family? The answer was ever far from their minds, but it was out there. He bided his time until his eighteenth birthday where it required him to enlist in the army.

Two weeks pass by, not even close to it when letters were sent to young men all over America. Soldiers were needed to work a top secret mission in the Saigon campaign. When Luther got the letter in his mailbox one afternoon before heading to the diner, for some strange reason his compulsion to tear it up was kept in check. Maxine, the Henderson matriarch sat with him to read over the government correspondence. If dry eyes were dams, the first sentence alone cracked them little by little until tears dropped from both of them. For the first time in ten years, this was the second time Luther cried to see his only boy being sent out to war.

It wasn't until later at night Lyle picked up the letter with the tear stains on it, but he didn't feel scared or compelled to cry. From the age of six, both his parents moved heaven and earth to keep his head on straight and to be the working man for the next generation. Granted, there were some bumps along the way; they wouldn't be a family without flaws otherwise. He sat in the kitchen reading over the letter, studied every syllable for two straight hours so he could process what was expected of him. Although he never held a gun before, his father suggested something he never thought he would hear in his life.

"We've seen the worst Soho has to offer. If we had the money, we'd move somewhere less exciting, but this is New York. We are livin' in the age of pariahs, son. And you know what pariahs do? Your mother and I talked it over. One day you will have a family, and how you mold them in the next age will determine how the name "Henderson" will live on. The only thing I've ever hunted was a job and solution outta here. Before you set out, we'll learn how to hunt animals together. Over there is no joke. In the papers, Saigon makes New York look like an industrial circus, like we don't possess the stones to survive. We don't have a lot of years left in us, but for all our values… we love you, Lyle. When you come back from this thing, make a better future than what we had."

From that point forward, there was no turning back for the next line of Henderson to stake their claim in this life. It was out of the waiter's apron and into the cistern of war. What came next for Lyle had set him up for the rest of his life, and the near cost of his health. In the year 1976, he was sent back home due to a severe medical condition. The army doctors presumed it was marijuana on a frightening scale; veins pulsing in his eyes, every single hair standing up on his body, and speaking as if he was another person entirely. They heard rumors that the "drug" was used on enemy combatants.

It took Lyle another year to recuperate and process the events that took place overseas. He spent his time in and out of hospitals as New York doctors couldn't decide the cause of his medical condition. When he finally came to however, he uttered his sensation to his doctor for the first time since he came home. "Sai… gon… they were cooking… I wielded their guns, tasted the blood dripping from their helmets. The gas I inhaled… it felt like a part of me bonded with another. I smelled his rage, his stench, the cold grip on his weapon as I…"

The prognosis to the present day remained unclear, but his first words gave the doctors something to look into for related patients. The Government sanctioned operation in Saigon was tightly lipped for all parties involved. Under military contract he wasn't allowed to utter a word about it to anyone, not even his first born Kenzie who he had with his girlfriend of three years, Leah Renly at the time. With his parents on the verge of their death beds due to severe worry on Lyle's well-being, he had an idea. It came to him on his annual night terrors. To those who knew him, on the outside he was a decorated Veteran who served proudly for his country. On the inside, his heart kept something ugly and dormant.

In the years leading up to four decades of a family legacy built around the Soul Leaping Gas, it was a miracle the Hendersons were neither cannibalistic nor psychotic, not all of them at least. Kenzie Henderson became a first-hand contender in trying out the gas's effects. How that family meeting took place was another mystery. However, it left a sting of betrayal that was felt down the bloodline, and instilled a strict code of fornication for his second child, Jedidiah. It was this focused young boy, taught at the age of four that putting your soul into something is the most worthwhile thing on this planet, but your faith in someone was a different tale of woe.

As an agreement between father and son, Jed was promised to keep his share of the gas business for so long as he furthers the Henderson line within the line itself. Like Lyle, Jed didn't have as many options in life, but he wasn't shipped off to war and went to a decent public school in Staten Island along the North Shore. Becoming of age, Jed grew a charisma that has taken him to the toughest spots around New York, from the Bronx to Jackson Heights. The Soul Leaping Gas was implemented to clear out some "problems" New Yorkers were having in their own lives. At first, Jed used the gas on himself to "inhabit" a rapist about to shank a pregnant lady in Queens.

Apart from distributing with his old man, it was the first time he got high on his own supply. It was a rigorous transfer; the gas almost split him in two. It only got rougher when he saw the fear of a Spanish woman about to go into labor when the rapist decided to take his own life in front of her. Once his tainted spirit left his body, so did Jed's sight of the event. His casualty bill had gotten to the point where he couldn't justify the reason behind it anymore. After a few years, the gas split his brain in two, breaking him in a detoxing fashion.

It wasn't until he met a High School Senior named Holland, or "Holly" as her friends called her. He was a year behind her and had the temptation all boys his age had when it came to girls. Holly came from an Irish background, born and raised in Monroe, New Jersey. It was quite a jump for her to come from one place and adapt into the next. She transferred to Port Richmond in her sophomore year.

Jed was an observer in High School; not in a stalking sense, but paying close attention to what went on around him, and more importantly around Holly. As few love stories went, mystery continued to ensue around the Hendersons into the modern era of their business. Furthering the gene pool consisted of a lot back room and half-hearted explanations that angered Lyle to no end. In the year 1995, that was when another huge change took Jed to new heights. New York was becoming too dangerous for his conflicted sense of morality, and so he took Holly back to her New Jersey home to start fresh.

Details surrounding the move got loose and twisted as well to keep prying ears from guessing. A secret love plus six children later, Jersey had a mindset somewhat similar to New York's golden quality: "The city that never sleeps." The Hendersons of today took the gas in a whole different direction. Jed stood in the shadows as the cook while Holly inherited her trucker father's love for the road. Years pass, and the business grew into a dysfunctional, yet well-oiled machine.

The children were free to handle the business as they saw fit under Jed's supervision. Family meetings became paramount to going to Church on Sundays. His first son Bentley had a gift for public speaking, converting a few new customers to the gas as a vigilante crutch. They were living in a curious age, and everybody wanted to feel like they were somebody else. As his word turned profit, Corkscrew and third born child Alanna were the two unfortunate ones to be drafted to fight in the Middle East four months after 9/11.

In two tours in Iraq, Alanna maintained an irritating fear in the back of her mind that the next bullet whizzing past her head would hit its' mark. It was a fear that would eventually blend in with the rest of her battle scars; one of her advantages as a soldier being a chameleon of sorts. It went against any and all U.S. military protocol, and after months of working her way up through the ranks she was granted the chance to go undercover. This was her true test as both an individual and a Henderson, to see if she had what it took to make her grandfather proud. As for Maurice a.k.a. Corkscrew, he welcomed the chance to break away from the family to fight for a cause made real.

Both siblings harbored no ill will toward their roots, but sooner or later the Hendersons would have to make a life changing decision, to break the Kentucky mold and see the world with fresh eyes. All it took was one brother to make an unorthodox approach to this; Mickey himself. Before working for a retail store in Manalapan, Mickey was one of the more unstable types. The night terrors Lyle once had were somehow passed on to him. Seeing the gas in action during a High School after party in Seaside Heights, NJ caused him to retract from the reality around him.

He could still hear the stampeding footsteps and the strung out drunks with one of their eyes hanging on a tendon. Big brother Bentley had a flair for the dramatic, and thought it was an unwritten rule to scare their youngest siblings into a strait jacket. Out of all six children, Mickey and his five year old sister Juniper stood clear away from the family business. Jed and Holly considered his impotence as act of defiance with Jed disowning Mickey after failing to carry out shipments of gas canisters to Seaside Heights. That was back in 2012.

Three years and counting, deliveries to the Jersey Shore, Wildwood, and Seaside shuffled between Alanna, Corkscrew, and Holly whenever she could. This time it was Ms. Chameleon driving with the black sheep of the family, Terry Mo. He was a fourth born and very rebellious among his teenage friends. His standing with the family was neutral, never took sides even when the situation demanded it. Both drove on a Friday night to the Heights with thirty canisters in tow. Even to this day, the original ingredients behind the gas were still a mystery to Alanna.

"Truck smells like ass." Terry said looking at his phone.

"Wait 'till we get to Seaside." Alanna mentioned. "If the fried oreos don't kill you first, the stench of raw bumping will. But what can we do? This used to be Mick's gig. These were his people. I hate this part of Jersey."

"Mom told me she was thinkin' of making the big move back to Staten Island. The old Boarding House there, how fuckin' sweet would it be-

"Language, she shouted and sighed soon after, you've been hanging out with C.S. too much."

"Least he knows how to have fun." He replied. "You never really opened up about what happened when you were in uniform. We both know the news can bullshit through anything these days, but I see it on your face. Fifteen years and it's getting' worse, isn't it?"

Alanna was granted an honorable discharge from duty after serving two tours. Infiltration missions, undercover work, it can take an emotional toll on anyone. She couldn't make sense of the family's goals when she got home. Maurice can put on a brave face, but she felt the same sting of war as he did. For her in the outside world, she had to keep moving until she could find a new calling. Every time she looked at thirteen year old Terry and Juniper, she saw two lucky ones who never had to deal in this line of chaos.

She knew Mickey saw that in them, too. After an hour and a half of driving, they finally made it to the Heights where, without anticipating, a huge party took place. They could feel the music quaking under the truck; a greasy paradise on the sand. Pulling up to the beach's parking lot via a private route Mickey once used, they confronted the ticket booth with a well-poised beach guard walking up and asked, "Evenin'! What's your business here?"

"We're here to drop off the "party favors." Alanna said. "Mickey couldn't make it."

"That's a relief actually. My name's Jordan. Last time he was here, he decided to stick around and caused a big scene on the boardwalk."

"He's been known to make drama out of the smallest situations. He got that from big bro. Just tell me where to drop 'em off."

"Drive to the back behind Lillo Italian Ices. Sammy and Harold will take it from there."

"Kay thanks. Oh and hey, mind if we stick around?" She asked him out of the blue.

The sudden interest in having a social life sparked giddiness in Terry. Since coming home, she never reconnected with her childhood friends, much less had a relationship within the family. Terry being the second teenager wasn't like all the other kids. Apart from being a rebel brat at home, he had an adventurous streak by climbing trees in Asbury Park. As they U-turned around towards a narrow road towards Lillo's, two things etched in his mind since they were sticking around: fried dough zeppoles and the arcade, and as luck would have it the two weren't far apart from each other.

Alanna reversed behind the store's loading dock with the tail end of the truck almost sending both of them through the windshield. It was close and secured she thought, only if the breaks weren't so sticky. They met up with the two Italian Ice employees while Alanna went over the specifics as to where the gas was going. "Where the hell is Mickey?" Harold asked suspiciously.

"Word around here is he got banned for something he caused over on the boardwalk." She replied.

"He got high in the Tiki Bar again, didn't he?" Terry wanted to know.

"You brought a kid with ya?" Harold asked as he signaled Sammy over to unload.

"Yeah, yeah I'm a pre-teen firecracker with a hunger for fried dough. Is Zeppole still open?"

Alanna then interjected while observing the merchandise, "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything with his phone. So, that's thirty canisters, one for each party guest. I'll swing over the scene to make sure the local police don't partake."

"Y'all brought over the concentrated stuff this time, right?" Sammy asked, loading the first crate off. "Last shipment, we saw a reenactment of the Lion King."

"Yeah, Mickey was feelin' a little too nostalgic that night."

"Did he play Mufasa?" Terry asked.

"Fuckin' Simba, Sammy spoke with disgust, like at the very beginning where that old chimpanzee holds him up for all of Pride Rock to see."

" _Then_ he roared like a goddamn Wookie and something else dropped-

"I still have a few alternatives up my sleeve." She cut off Harold. "Are we good to go?"

The shipment fired on all cylinders in Harold's eyes. They spared no time getting the crates onto gas powered bikes stored out front and called in Seaside personnel to deliver them to the party. Seaside Heights… the sea air never smelled so stale and foul at the same time Alanna thought. The pizza place on the eastern corner of the shore wasn't as good as it used to be either; with the crust being too soft and cheese oozing like playing pickup sticks. The entire shore did however look lovely at night with all the lights on and today's music playing in a far distance. After a minute of taking in the scenery, she told Terry, "Go play in the arcade. I need to do some recon before we hit the road."

"Breakin' curfew with the old ivory tooth, I like it! Can you give me money for some fried dough?"

"Boy, with _your_ acne problems not a chance, she reminded him, besides I need you to be focused tonight."

"Ugh, I know. Make sure no infants go near the gas."

"I got that covered… but good kid. Two hours tops." She replied.

Being Mickey's former hunting ground, he studied the dynamics behind what Seaside Heights provided. From the number of red faced jocks acting like Tarzan to the make out sessions under the pier. Some things never changed from the old days except for the nightly ocean view. Through the ganja haze laid a serene paradise that never ends. Alanna took her time while keeping her brother within viewing distance, scoping out the shore where the party took place.

Such clichés were a thing of the past she believed, wearing muscle T's and tube tops, but in this case she stuck out like a sore thumb. She grabbed a garbage bag she had from the truck, and put on some college appropriate clothes to blend in with the rowdy walks of life. Following the crowd was what she excelled at overseas. If it was anything related to the pool party she partook in Afghanistan six years before, she forgot to stage a .38 snub behind a "lavish" port-a-potty near the center of the shore, where the showers were to wash off sand. It didn't take long to look like an underprivileged social climber walking with other college kids, hollering and hooting over where the volleyball courts were.

From there, clockwork did its magic as the beach personnel hand delivered the crates to the lead patrons of the soiree. Five willful types wearing their school's name on their hoodies; three Rutgers guys, one girl from Georgian Court while the other came from Rider University, all gathered together for the psychological ride of their miserable lives. Alanna kept her distance in the crowd when she got a text from Terry asking, _"R people losin' it yet?"_ In the next few minutes, one of the Rutgers guys with the façade of a Criminal Justice major took a canister out of one of the misty crates and said a few words for tonight's occasion. She recognized him from the selfies Mickey used to take on his phone on his occasional frat party.

"Lemme get y'all's attention for a minute!" He said over his microphone. "Shit's about to get crazy soon, trust me. First off, I look at you guys and see three institutions that were at each other's throats at one point, both academically and recreationally! The past nine months have been outta control. We've impersonated each other's campuses, trashed dorm rooms, and invaded a fraternity pledge like something out of a GTA game! If you're with us tonight, means you're a goddamn good sport! So, pat yourself on the back 'cause we're graduating!" He shouted as the crowd went wild.

"Troy fuckin' Dunlap, Alanna uttered with slight frustration, I remember you. Your gas tab maxed out five months ago; should've known Mickey was doing something to spite dad."

"I assume you heard about this orange gas that once belonged to the Henderson family." He said holding up the canister. "I've tested it! It's one high you'll never forget; transcending beyond the effects of a bowl! Alright, enough talk! Let's get fucked all the way _uuuuuuuuuuuppppp!"_

A speech for the ages… ages 15 and up she thought. Alanna moved towards the front of the crowd to see if Troy recognized her. With her brother being a vivid storyteller, even when high on other drugs, it wouldn't take him long to notice a Henderson hawk-eyeing him five feet away from where the crates were stacked. Troy and the four other patrons inhaled their first hit of the night. If the entire beach was pitch black, the only light shown would be the 100 orange eyes and insane asylum laughing that followed after. However, being the concentrated batch she created, it had a trigger mechanism to bring the user back to their old selves.

She wanted to demonstrate it for "scientific" reasons when she called out, "Are you seein' ghouls tonight, chief?" One good listen sent him sprinting away from the party and towards hollow sand. The service transformed her feet into the speed of a gazelle. Still trapped in his body, sweating and heart beating like a twenty-one gun salute, Troy wondered why the first hit didn't send his spirit out of his body. Before realizing what batch he took from without paying, he went face deep in the wet sand with Alanna pinning him to the ground.

"Wait, wait, I can't breathe!" He screamed from the sand.

"Looks like the gas rejected your soul." Alanna said.

"No, I literally cannot breathe with your foot on my back!"

"If I turn you over, will you stay down?" She asked as he shivered being turned with his pale orange eyes looking at the she-devil herself. "My batch is an alteration of the real thing. Don't look so glum, you acknowledged us in your little rant back there."

"Where the fuck is Mickey? I invited him here, said he'd be here."

"He dropped out of our family some time ago. Lucky for you, this gas can dissipate if you take a hard knock to the head. But first… you went five months without paying a dime for our livelihood, Troy."

"Look, I was gathering money together to pay for your brother's deliveries, but I got a little sidetracked." He said while catching his breath. "It's not my fault."

"Ha, the million dollar response of the century; from what I hear your mother left you a huge inheritance when she passed from pancreatic cancer last year; $446,000 worth."

He suddenly relaxed his coarse ridden face and had a defensive ire he was willing to ignite by saying, "Go to hell, Henderson. I'm putting that money to good use."

A whizzing sound moved an inch away from Alanna's left cheek, leaving a red mark on Troy's forehead. Frisbees weren't as flexible as they used to. And for Terry, his right pitching arm had a serious case of dangerous lumber when it came to footballs, basketballs, even ping pong if he was feeling the itch to throw something. He ran up to the both of them as Alanna shook her head in disbelief and scolded, "The hell are you doing, I told you to stay in the arcade?"

"You also told me to keep an eye out." He replied. "I saw a few cops racing towards the party group."

"Fuck, my girlfriend's over there!" Troy shouted before getting punched in the nose.

"Mick once told me what she looked like." He told Alanna. "If Kylie Jenner was ever manufactured…"

"Here's what's gonna happen. You owe at least $220,000 plus interest on the "free" deliveries. You take us to your house, empty half your inheritance and we call it a night. Consider this your last experience with Soul Leaping."

"Let me ask y'all something." Troy sat up and wiped blood off his nose. "Who are you fooling? You're not doing anybody a public service with this shit. I take it so I can forget what happened to me last week. Your gas killed people… and _I'm_ the asshole? 40 years of shadow murders from your grandpa all the way down to your youngest sister."

"You have _no_ idea what we've done to survive." Alanna insisted.

"Listen to yourself. There's a hell for all of us, but a special one for people like you. And Juniper, she is going to grow up hating her last name. She'll hate your faces, hate the legacy your dear ol' daddy will force her into, and hating herself. Mickey's my homeboy. We don't keep secrets. You'll all rot for the sins of your elders-

Alanna couldn't take it anymore. Right in front of Terry, she stomped his windpipe to the point of crushing it completely. No amount of gas was going to help his soul inhabit someone else's. And in that moment of a spurred on reaction, her brain gave her split second flashes when she was in Iraq. It had her hands shaking as well as making her legs feel like Jell-0. Terry was stunned. Cops from all over the Seaside area felt it was time to cut off the noise early and send everyone on a one-way trip to either the ER or a jail cell overnight.

She had no intention of getting caught. Suddenly regaining her ability to be scarce she took Terry back on the boardwalk, and into Lillo's where they saw Sammy and Harold out in front overseeing the event. It took every fiber in both Henderson siblings not to look at what was happening to those college kids, but one fiber gave way to guilt. The beach turned into an all-out brawl between orange and blue; rabid dogs against pigs. For the longest time, Alanna had the discipline and mental constitution to stomach any situation no matter how gruesome.

She couldn't hide the fact there was indeed a hell for each Henderson. Without saying a word to the shop workers, both got back in the truck and drove out before anyone noticed they were gone. Aside from being cursed from a gas she used on herself during an initiation by her father, little Juniper filled her mind with dread to what would happen if Jed turned his focus on the younger generation. That was what she feared for both her and Terry, looking over the graves of their family and continuing the curse for future generations. It made her blood cold of the vicious cycle Lyle had started.

The open road was both dark and mysterious; it felt like the karmic walls were closing in on both of them. It took Terry time to gather his thoughts on what happened, "We almost didn't make it that time, sis. You okay?"

"… Yeah. What I did to Troy back there, I met his girlfriend once. I did him a favor." She spoke with uncertainty.

"The sound of his neck being crushed… oh Christ, didn't imagine it'd be loud. Lana, be straight here. Were you in complete control then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maurice said you've had what he calls, "psychotic breaks" or "neural deterioration" or something. You reenact certain times as a soldier so you can better understand your mistakes."

"T, come on now." She tried changing the subject. "Corkscrew was in the service longer than I was. Prior to him deciding to go, I had no idea Fallujah was a real place. We're gonna be fine."

"The big guy might say otherwise." He replied.

"Troy had an inheritance at his family's house. I dunno know if we can take the money now."

That was when Terry pulled out the gas junkie's wallet and said, "Big brother Ben can find his whereabouts."

"Where did you…?"

"I nabbed it on our way out." He said handing her the wallet. "Expired license and a pic of his girl; an Instagram sensation if you ask me, more like "insta-cliché."

Once again, shaking her head in disbelief knowing Terry went from Sammy Sosa to petty thievery in a matter of minutes. Forty years of trying to understand Grandpa Lyle's reason for finding the gas in Saigon, it all boiled down to senseless murder without actually pulling the trigger. "We can't do this anymore." She said, trying to keep her eyes on the road. "Mickey left for a reason. The last person he spoke to was… shit, Troy. We'll have to find him another way."

"The Boarding House maybe, Terry brought up, that's one of the things Mick and I have in common: big, scary houses. Lana, we already broke protocol twice tonight. I say we ditch the old fart and road trip to Staten."

One of the truck's tires blew out, sending them in a state of panic as Alanna slammed on the breaks while pulling over on the side of the parkway. "HOLD ONTO SOMETHIN'!" She screamed. She attempted to get the truck going straight when two more problems came rushing past them like a bat out of hell. The sound of a kazoo almost shattered the windows as two speed demons on bikes rode past them. Whoever they were, they'd gotten themselves a good fifteen feet away even with traffic driving behind and around them. Terry got under the passenger's seat with Alanna kissing his head soon after.

From there, to add insult to automotive injury, bullets started flying at the truck and leaving holes everywhere it touched. Traffic wasted no time breaking its' flowing routine by swerving all over the road with equal panic. Before she knew it, she took two slugs to the shoulder and left rib, sending the truck spiraling off the road and crashed into a patch of forest. The two bikers in black went off-road to inspect the severity of the truck's condition. One had the build of a football player while the other had swag of a ghetto kid. Both got off their bikes with flashlights checking to see if they could add a couple dead Hendersons to their profiles.

" _Are they dead?"_ One muffled.

" _The lil' kid might be."_ The other replied, aiming his light at Terry. _"Eugh, if I ever have kids remind me not to hire her as a nanny."_

" _Damn it… Connor's going to be pissed if he hears about this!"_

" _He's unhinged. What's he gonna do? These motherfuckers multiplied. It ain't about Has-been Jed or his wanksta white son anymore. I'm phoning it in…"_

" _Vinny, you really want to wake her at 'this' hour?"_

" _This is our goddamn shot, Ty. This is our chance to bring down these gas mongers, and we have two. Get the tween kid out first."_

Fortune and misfortune had a way of how and where to find the Hendersons. It wasn't everyday an operation like a gas delivery goes to the wolves; rarely ever. On a good day, experienced members of the family like Bentley and Jed would take one hit in a populated area, possess some unworthy types to handle negotiations, have them take the money and cause an accidental suicide for the cops to determine. It was a risky setup; one Alanna wasn't entirely comfortable with. Terry was out like a light from the blurry vision she made out.

She dreaded the fact that if he wasn't breathing, she would have to remember her military training for the shooters that ran them off the road. The night never looked so unclear in her entire life, but embracing a new challenge was one of the testaments in being a soldier. To her, it was a brand new mission.


	6. Chapter 6: Genetic Intervention

Tyler and Vince used the truck crash as a safety net to clean off the blood from the driver's side before carrying two Hendersons into the cover of night. The year 2013 entered a prolonged stint of drivers, texting as they drove. Day or night; the playful ping one gets on the road seemed more important than what was around them. At least, that was what Tyler kept in the back of his mind carrying Alanna away from the crash. The sound of their footsteps gave way to the loud, heart poundings as they moved further and further deep into the forest area.

Vince had the easy job he thought. Although Terry was heavier than he looked, he took grave care covering their tracks by treading dirt on the blood spots Alanna left. By the time they were away from the scene with the sound of traffic fading in the background, Vince broke out his flashlight and said, "Kay, think we're far enough." Looking at them, Tyler especially was amazed how they were able to pull off the gun maneuver when they did; first job with few setbacks. All it took was an ear to the ground and an egotistic college boy from Rutgers to spill hints about the Hendersons.

Both brothers were familiar with Seaside Heights and the influence Soul Leaping had on willing victims. It made them wish people would stick to reefer. That drug alone kept the fried oreo game in business whenever munchies were kicked up to eleven. The weather was changing Tyler thought, sweating bullets and catching his breath.

"Still can't believe we pulled it off!" Tyler said, taking off his black bandana.

"Troy has a big fuckin' mouth. Did you know the pre-grad shindig was a smokescreen? He and some other guy named "Mickey" were gonna drug everybody, do some freaky shit I never heard of. Wonder where he is…"

"His ass is probably roasted by now." Vince determined. "The cops had their hands full dealing with the crowd. Bro, please tell me you phoned somebody else."

"I did. I called Doctor Eckstein, her physician. He's bringin' over his van and some tarp for these two." He pointed at them. "How many of these pricks are out there?"

The waiting game was simple: sit with the unconscious seeds of Jed Henderson, keep watch for any impeding deer, and look out for green headlights. To a professional "killer", that was a cakewalk, but this being their first job to earn some side pay it made both brothers uneasy. That was when another evil was added to the morality board; Connor. The oldest of three brothers to get a full-time job as corporate security at a retail store, the benefits were going to keep the lights on for sure. Tyler and Vinny on the other hand, all they cared about was losing any more of their High School friends to the orange gas.

It began with an after school gathering of freshman and sophomores in the gym. One of Vinny's oldest friends, Jackson was coerced by his fellow sophomore body to partake in an experiment that was going to topple the senior class in order to gain respect. Vince pulled him aside and tried all kinds of half-baked explanations of why he shouldn't go through with it. While Tyler was hungry for respect, Vince didn't care much for it. Jackson on the other hand, felt he owed it to himself and his abusive uncle to grow a pair, illusionary or not, and show everyone he wasn't some pushover for school counselors to study.

It was a small group of the two classes on a slow after school day. The last time Vince saw him was on the ground like a fish out of water, flailing his arms and bouncing off the pavement with his eyes turning complete orange. An incident such as that would drive any fifteen year old to drop out of school, or run away to avoid the media on his best friend's peer pressure. Two years and counting he thought on the ride back to Doctor Eckstein's humble abode in Holmdel. They had never been to the lavish side of New Jersey before.

Entering the neighborhood, there was a house the size of a mansion on every corner. Tyler had suspicions on the good Doctor's living arrangements but by the time he was about to ask, Terry groaned in his sleep which sent the two brothers turning their heads in swift fashion. The Doctor rolled his eyes and whispered, "You two didn't give the kid the goddamn sedatives I gave you?" Vince was dumbfounded the Henderson teen was still awake after the hard knock to his skull; it being the size of a melon. He gave Tyler an annoying look, foolishly knowing he was going to forget sedating them. "I thought the syringe would wear out by the time we got here." Tyler claimed, climbing over to the back of the van and administered the elephant drug.

Another five minutes went by, and when they finally reached Eckstein's two level mansion, he drove into the garage and worked fast to get Alanna and Terry inside. Once again, the brothers' switched roles by having Tyler carry Alanna into the basement. Eckstein ran downstairs to procure his medical tools. The entire place was quiet and dark, passing all three by in a blur and leaving thin strands of blood on the floor.

"Set 'em on the operating tables." Eckstein told them as he saw Tyler struggling to lift Alanna. "Boy, lift with your knees."

"I know this isn't what Ms. Nivans wanted for them." Vince said. "But our hand was forced by the cops."

"Seaside went belly up when we left." Tyler said. "You shoulda seen the police brutality on the beach."

"Are you _sure_ you didn't see Mickey there?" Eckstein asked, sterilizing his pliers to remove the two bullets.

"We made damn sure." Vince replied. "Ms. Nivans was right on the money when she said Mickey was breakin' away from that bullshit legacy 'bout gassing people. So what's next for us?"

"Well, let's see. I have an Iraqi war vet and a kid with a pitching arm that could put A-Rod on the bench. If you two had sedated them before Troy was killed, y'all wouldn't have shot up their truck. You have any idea what that truck would be worth at an auction, in the Bronx? Holly Henderson worked distribution out of it. She and Jed made more money in one day than what an 8-Baller makes in a week."

"Why is Soul Leaping gas so hot though?" Tyler asked. "I've seen a rabid Doberman show more restraint than someone hopped up on that shit."

"Mr. Hutch, if you wanted a moral compass as a care package, you're in the wrong business." Eckstein made clear sealing up Alanna's wounds. "Alanna is stable; bullets went through clean, no fragments. Terrence on the other hand is a different story."

Both brothers got up to see what he was talking about, and the look up close raised their eyebrows. In a blink of an eye, Terry's condition went from a bump on the head to revealing veins on his forehead. From what Eckstein understood but never shared with the guys was that Terry was a mama's boy. Maybe it was the Irish blood in him he thought, but then again, the relationship between mother and child was stronger than any of her other children, even Mickey. Black sheep were frowned upon in the Henderson clan hence the reason why he was disowned by Jed.

Terry's condition was still too early to tell, allowing Eckstein to take precautions by putting a shock collar around his neck. Vince and Ty kept their distance as their stomachs tried moving their feet back upstairs for some food for the road. "You boys should head home. I'll hold them overnight and call Ms. Nivans in the morning."

"What, that's it?" Tyler asked. "We're just going to leave you here with these assholes?"

Vince held his shoulder and said, "Ty, come on."

"We've seen what the gas does to people, doc. I dunno what "Ms. Nivans" is going to do with them, but I say we deliver 'em to her cold."

"Would you _think_ for a sec?" Vince insisted. "We got lucky on that parkway. There were too many eyes on us as it is. We did our job. Let the actual professionals handle this."

"Now who's not thinking?" He laughed in disbelief. "Professionals, you want to leave two Henderson siblings in the hands of "professionals?" Tyler stood up, trying to stir another debate. "Would Jackson leave it to these guys? How 'bout Miranda, Travis, Glenn…or mom; Connor wouldn't live it down if this happened to one of us."

"Alright boys, that's enough." Eckstein intervened and paused for a second. "Would Connor object to you two staying here for the night?"

"Yes!" Both responded at the same time.

"Just so happens we're standing in my colleague's house. He's away at a conference and wanted me to house sit. If your brother asks any questions, I'll vouch for you. It's the least I can do all things considered." He spoke with sympathy. "Now, y'all listen to me. Ms. Nivans has a plan to put the Hendersons down without firing a shot or a kick in the pants. Their reign in the shadows will be over before then."

The night as a whole rendered them exhausted, taking Eckstein's advice on staying in so they could postpone the inevitable lecture by their hard ass of a brother. Neither took the time to inspect the inside of a Holmdel home, but what they dropped in for sleeping felt like being hugged by a harmless bear. All things considered, all three parties didn't care for each other at first. The gas had affected people in different manners. In Eckstein's line of work, he took blood samples of gas victims so they could be studied.

He had ambition to be the next addition to "Doctors without Borders"; whether he was a man of medicine or a small pawn in the Henderson drug trade was anyone's guess. Where his expertise was the science behind the gas, Ms. Nivans was a creature of history on its origins. She studied tirelessly on where in Saigon it derived from, but old books and padded tales from Vietnam Veterans led her to cold dead ends. It would take another twenty some odd years to discover the secret she felt, knowing the answer was lodged on the tip of her tongue. The student, the Doctor and the compatriots came together under a formal gathering in Brooklyn; a wine tasting event with something stronger put in the alcohol.

New York was never keen on keeping secrets. She knew the infection that manifested throughout the boroughs and cops being the anti-biotics in the equation refused to treat her ailments. Four decades of unknown fear and cold leads on the police side, cases against extended members of the Henderson family was closed. Tyler, Vince and Connor came from the Harlem game. They saw firsthand what drugs can do, especially to unborn children.

Gossipers chalked it off as domestic abuse between spouses, as it was for the majority of NYC's toughest neighborhoods. That, along with gang shootouts and overdose, but that wasn't how it went down with the three siblings. The Soul Leaping gas made it to Harlem, a hard won passage when top thugs from there, Jamaican Queens, and even Chelsea refused new product to spill into their territories. Some said it was a rugged man in a leather jacket who just waltzed in with a gas canister, and let his influence do the talking. Back at the wine tasting, the man who walked away unscathed looked sketchy. The two teenage brothers caught a glimpse of him. Connor pulled them away before the gas entered their bloodstream.

Their parents and three uncles who were born and raised in New York packed their bags and left the next generation behind without so much as a word as to where they were going. It was a bizarre end to a family reunion, turned into a wakeup call for Tyler and Vince. Since the death of Jackson, the brothers drifted around Elizabeth, NJ to find some way to get back at the Hendersons. That was when they ran into Ms. Nivans at a hospital in Bayshore, diagnosed with Stage 2 cancer. The Physician treating her was none other Eckstein himself.

As if the world wasn't small enough, they all knew one thing: the Hendersons knew how to tear loved ones apart, pushing them closer to non-related allies. Cause and effect, some circle of life gesture that kept on giving to those scarred. They took up part-time jobs in Bayshore under Eckstein's recommendation until Ms. Nivans had other plans for them. They became a tight unit when one Henderson appeared on their radar: Bentley. As they looked for ways of bringing them down from the inside, one free spirited Henderson had his own agenda.

And so he took it back to New York with a Puerto Rican number on his left arm, wearing a grey dress and allowed her natural tan skin light up the room. Mickey was once a young man against the wishes of his father to carry on the family legacy. His eyes had bear the peeling faces of unfortunate victims of the gas, and wanted to find his own path. Everybody had to start somewhere. His first step moved him out of New Jersey, taking up a one room residence in Queens.

The transition was easy since he was the delivery man of the family, having the privilege of keeping in touch with loyal customers. The next step for him was finding a job. That was when taking the train became a grace period for him, particularly going to the West Village. He had only delivered in Soho and some street corners on the Lower East Side, depending on the amount of heat in drug competition. However, he never took the time to see the entire city. Eventually, he stumbled upon a bar in the West Village called the Blind Tiger.

With only $31 in his pocket and a throat drier than a heatwave at the Jersey Shore, he took a chance and walked in to have a beer. 10:30 at night, techno music playing in the background, and all around the best Buffalo chicken wings he ever tasted. Suddenly, a bartender caught his eye. Helena her name was; Latin descent with an Italian background on her father's side. At the time, he didn't want to make a move knowing someone like her would never be single. Unfortunately, his dating mojo was put to the test when some drunkard and his four man entourage stumbled into the bar with demanding intent on taking Helena with them.

Mickey looked at his mug filled with Boston Lager, putting it to the side to make his introductions. In the three and a half minutes practicing restraint, true to form the drunken misfits waved their pistols and spewing commands for Helena to be a "good girl" and come back to his spot for some afterhours partying. Mickey then acted on an instinct Alanna taught him; disarming a man with quick precision and pull the trigger only when necessary. Up until the bar dispute, he never quite mastered the technique… until he went for a tweaker's pistol for practice. The scene froze with them all looking at him and one scared expression from Helena's ex-boyfriend. "Holy shit, you're Jed's son; one of 'em at least."

He shook backing away. "Hey, bro, we're just lit outta our minds right now. No need to gas us to teach us a lesson. We were just leaving." Helena gripped the shotgun under the bar counter in case "Trip" wanted to pull a 180, but luckily she didn't have to use her own money to buy new bar seats. When the posse stormed out of the Blind Tiger, the tigress looked at Mickey with a sense of gratitude, but kept a distance as well. The name "Henderson" was heard in the bar once before she told him.

They had a tendency to cause fights when they're not in the room, leading up to a death brawl where no one leaves alive. Helena suddenly changed her mind when she thought the bar stools needed refurnishing when she pointed the shotgun at him. With the way his life outside the family had been, a part of him wanted to accept such an end. His conscience came out loud and clear when it told him the world would be a better place if one less Henderson was walking in it. Flustered and numb, Mickey took a few steps back from the counter and said his piece to her.

"What Trip said was right. My name is Mickey Henderson, and my family has brought a lot of pain to New York over the years."

She cocked the gun and replied, "So it is true. The cops are too scared to put you guys down."

"Would it help if I said my father disowned me because of my name? Look." He said taking his jacket off, putting all his possessions on the counter. "Ten bucks, an old I-pod and some grape Jolly Ranchers. Our dad preached it was customary to carry around a syringe of the gas in case anyone threatened us."

"Well, I'm not threatening you. But I promise if you don't get the hell out of this bar, you'll wish that was the only thing."

"I don't have any excuses, no made up stories to save my own skin." He said. "My older sister and brother were in the service a few years back. They enlisted as a test to see if they still had the fortitude to endure in the family business. I know Soul Leaping has been hurting people way too long. It's scarred me, too. I don't have much goin' for me, but I'm trying to change that. Sooner or later, all six of us are going to stand up to him… or the five of them. It's up to you, Helena."

"… How has the gas affected you?"

"If you put the gun down and give me three hours of your time, I'll tell you." He promised her. "Or you can dial 911 and see what they do with me. It's your choice."

Mickey couldn't imagine any other way to go out. Whatever he was spinning out of his mouth seemed to be working though. He sat back down, drank the lager sweating from his mug. He hadn't inhaled a hint of the gas in the eight months he was disowned. If he were to die by an impactful buck shot of a twelve gauge, seeing a beautiful creature as his world faded to black, it would all be worth it he thought. And three months since the time he stepped into that bar, he marched on a clearer path to being a normal citizen.

With every job application he filled out for legal work; busboy, desk jockey, retailer, the sting of his family's name became less and less prevalent every day. Their relationship was a spur of the moment occurrence. While Mickey looked for work, Helena tried breaking into the medical field as an EMT. It was a rocky arrangement, but he pushed himself in believing he could make it work with her. He had to if he wanted to stay mentally together; three months no luck finding a job and not a red cent to his name.

One morning he decided to take his drunken roommate's car to go on a road trip to New Jersey. Of all six siblings, unlike Terry, Mickey was a closeted mama's boy. Holly would tell him stories of her road trips with her old man along the Sussex County line. The money was decent and you get to see the whole garden state from the musky windshield of his truck. His first exposure to Soul Leaping scarred his lungs from coughing profusely. To this day, he swore a vow to never touch the stuff again, and if he ever saw Bentley anytime soon there would be blood on the pavement.

Driving around his usual delivery spots, he found himself in Manalapan with a sudden craving for a soft pretzel. From what he heard of retailer Blue Bullseye, they had top quality pretzels that would make one's taste buds do the cha-cha. Hope, mustard dip and a computer hub later, he took his chances on applying for a Guest Service job. Though he wasn't the type to explain store conduct to local Jerseyans, he did have a mind for tall tales. This kind of motivation kept his hopes high for two whole days until the store called him to set an interview.

It was almost too easy given his background. While on their computer he had to rethink his job experience and abilities to make them sound convincing enough; seven times in fact. For him, the effort was mind boggling for a simple retail job, but he wanted his bank account to have clean money by doing something that mattered. He called it his twelve step rehab approach to become the man Helena deserved. On that same Friday night Alanna and Terry went to Seaside Heights, Mickey took his lady to one of the hottest clubs in Manhattan; Cielo.

It had disco dancing, all kinds of drinks and the ambiance set a standard few clubs managed to pull off. With the pricey entrance fee however, Helena suggested splitting the money down the middle. She wanted to shake off the stresses of medical school and Mickey wanted to be in a place where people didn't know his family's name. Manhattan had tough competition in terms of new drugs hitting their neck of the woods. No one there knew nor cared for the Hendersons.

The party didn't turn things up until midnight. That was around the time the in-crowd began showing up. Harvard Law students dressed in flashy colored suits, Bachelors throwing down tabs for drinks, even a Union boss or two showed up with their mistresses. As they danced, Mickey veered his eyes around the place for any way to move on up quicker in the working world. He had the flea market silver tongue and a "don't take 'no' for an answer" attitude that lured others to the conversation. Helena got close to him and asked, "You good, baby?"

Retorting with an unsure "yeah…" she took the opportunity to observe her surroundings. She knew a few Henderson clients and wondered if one of them caught wind to his whereabouts. It could be the Harvard yaps she thought, but this was New York. Anything could happen at any time. They switched up their dance moves when a classic Spanish song played in the background. Mickey caught a glimpse at the bar of a dark skinned young man, sporting classy club wear that arrived with the same idea he did.

"See anyone you recognize?" She asked him.

"That guy up there." He showed her at the bar. "He's not a customer, just one of the most prestigious Bachelors from Marlboro; "S.K." they call him."

"He looks busy with his lady friend. If he's not one of yours, you don't need to worry. We shouldn't be worried, si?" She asked suspiciously.

"No, he just works for B.B. Hey, wanna get a drink?"

"Aye dios, yes, I need some patron in me." She spoke with relief.

"Ha, that was chivalrous, right?"

"If my late mama can see us now…"

Cielo was packing up to a full house, allowing Mickey to casually tear himself away to secure his job position at the retail store. He made it his mission to soak up as much information as he could in the afternoon he spent talking to other Team Members. From what he knew about S.K., people described him as a down to Earth guy who made connections fast; something the both of them had in common. Feeling for his pants pocket, he took out his rainy day fund from his gas delivery days and offered to buy S.K. and his lady friend a drink. Patron seemed to be a hot item on the exclusive side of the Big Apple.

"Good lookin' out, man!" S.K. shook Mickey's hand. "My girl is draining my wallet."

"Yeah, who's the gold digger?" He asked, noticing a red head chatting up with her girlfriends. "Oooh, you lucked up brother!"

"Between you and me, I collapse every time I see a woman with red hair walking by. That's my kryptonite. Cheers!" He toasted as they downed patron shots.

"Hey, look I know we just met, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Depends on the favor; nothing personal, I don't normally do favors for those I just met."

"I applied at the Blue Bullseye recently and I really need this job to go through." Mickey replied. "You think you could talk to a manager and get me in?"

"What'd you apply for?"

"Guest Service hopefully, I come from a business background so I know how to convert people into buying things. Name's ah, Henry by the way."

"Henry, huh… I'll see what I can do." S.K. assured him. "I'm still a new guy over there as well, been there two months. My advice though: don't stick around too long. Get the experience and leave before you get stuck doing the same shit over and over."

"I'll keep that in mind, man." He said, taking another shot of patron. "My full name is "Henry Hayesbern." I'm sure one of the managers will recognize the name."

"Alright, he replied when suddenly his girl called him over to the dancefloor, I gotta tend to the crimson goddess, man. I'll talk to one of the store LOD's and see if I can get you in."

It hit him again. Things were finally coming together on his new lease on life without family sin. At one point, he felt it was too easy, to the point of feeling paranoid that someone was going to figure out his true identity sooner or later. He wanted to play it cool, because there were only two obvious ends for a man with his name: prison or six feet under. He got out his phone after almost forgetting his best friend Troy was having a college peace court at Seaside Heights earlier that night.

He didn't see any replies, but after shooting a quick text to see if he could still stand up straight, Helena came back with two green patron shots as they crossed arms and drank to the night still ahead. For the second time in his life, he had never felt happier than when he was living on Cloud 9. Usually, that cloud was orange and grating to his vocal chords, but seeing Helena made him feel the luckiest man alive. They spent the next two hours hitting the dancefloor with rhythmic seduction; suddenly Mickey had to hit the restroom to drain out the patron in his system before going another dance round. Washing his hands afterward, the back of his neck turned cold, sending a line of shivers down his spine.

Before he knew it, the bathroom only had two people with tension running through their minds. One of them was Bentley himself. He had the build of a run-down mixed martial artist with hesitant eyes looking at his disowned sibling. At first, Mickey thought his father showed up drunk and ready to make a bleeding fist, but that was never his style. All it took was one stare, one that could split the human soul in two beyond repair. Luckily, that wasn't the case for either brother.

"Long while, Mick; you've gained weight. Seems living gas free turned you into everybody else."

"Is this how we're doing it, B?" He asked, turning around and facing him. "Looks like you've _lost_ weight. Is the old man stressing you out?"

"He stresses everybody out. We got a serious problem…"

"First smart thing you said." He relaxed his face. "How the hell did you find me?"

Bentley knew how to trigger his brother's temper. You can't unleash the Irish side without some incentive to get things moving. Once upon a time, he gassed Mickey unexpectedly. It sent him down a spiral of mental trauma and night terrors that would push him to bring him back to the man responsible. However, if the circumstances were back in South Jersey or at the Henderson Boarding House, Mickey would sustain no guilt on adding his blood to the pavement, but different times quickly reminded him of Helena. Two couples stumbled into the bathroom when they saw the .22 magnum pressed against Mickey's stomach.

Neither brother spoke. The chilling factor sent the socialites running with Bentley locking the door behind them, keeping the gun trained on him the whole time. He then spoke, "Lana and T never reported back from their delivery in Seaside a couple hours ago. I didn't tell dad at first. See, I'm the oldest so naturally the fallout is on me."

"I think I left my small violin in my shot glass. I can hum the melody if you want."

"The hell is with you; your eyes are the same but your posture… it is calm." Bentley said, trying to see decipher his brother's look. "So you're the one causing this genetic intervention, as expected. You never did mesh with the family business."

"It's driving you mad, eh?" He asked walking towards him. "You can't control me with the gas anymore. I got my own life now."

"All I want is our sister and brother safe… at least I thought I did. See, they made a grave error with the delivery truck. We _never_ take mom's truck unless it's for three locations: Staten Island, Soho, and Elizabeth, NJ. Now she's pissed and dad's raring to rip my head off. I tracked you down to the Blind Tiger a few months back. Remember those thirsty pricks who wanted to gangbang that bartender? Oh yeah, they sung when I got to 'em."

"You leave Helena out of this." Mickey warned him.

"What happens to her is up to you." He replied, loading the gun. "You're a Henderson, Mick. And I'm bringing my family home."

Without warning, Mickey bum rushed him as a sound breaking gunshot went off in the ceiling, pitting the brothers against each other. Neither had professional fighting experience, but that didn't stop Bentley from using the environment to his advantage. It was one slam to the next, with Mickey head butting him and slamming against one of the stalls. During the spat, he tried stopping midway to resist the one thing Bentley was trying to bring out of him. Soul Leaping left his stomach a broken box; the more he buried his rage inside, the harder it was to contain.

For a split second, he thought he was seeing orange. He shook his head and charged at him with Bentley kicking him back, followed by getting shoved on the sink with a glass shampoo bottle in hand. Tightly gripping it, Mickey took a few steps back and shouted, "I'm not doing this!" with shaking in his voice. Bentley revealed himself with a broken nose and a perverted smile, knowing in the back of his mind he was almost there. Mickey threw the bottle past his ear, shattering against the mirror when they fought again.

Once Bentley threw a few jabs in his ribcage, Mickey strained to keep his focus, slowly slipping between his old and new self. He then took Bentley's head and bounced it off a paper towel dispenser. Seeing this action, hearing that bone breaking sound knocked the wind out of him. Mickey stepped back and collapsed, seeing the magnum underneath one of the sinks. It was lodged in gunk. Ten minutes was all it took for them to get reacquainted. They both bled on the tiles as Bentley tried getting his bearings.

"Don'chu get it? I… shit…" He said trying to catch his breath. "I've changed. I dunno what you and dad are planning to do to me, but it doesn't matter. Lana, T, and mom will survive whatever happened tonight. Y'all did it before. Leave this club, B. If dad wants to deal with me personally, you tell him… I'll be waiting."

Mickey took a second to adjust his clothes and hair as if nothing was wrong, but there was no point. He knew it, and Bentley made sure he did by staring at him. The orange in his eyes, pulsing with resentment and an urge to finish his brother, he heard the subtle click of the bathroom's lock as Mickey took off into the cramping crowd outside. Bentley felt like a failure again. Their father instilled responsibility into his first three children to uphold the family legacy and ensure its continuance.

Strange enough Corkscrew never showed up after promising him to keep the roughhousing on Bentley's favor. The times were changing, and for a brief moment of anger and uncertainty, a thin line of realization dawned on him that Soul Leaping was taking a toll on all six siblings, Juniper least of all however. He knew their mother had a deep investment with the gas. At this point, she was probably the only person Jed could trust. Limping over to where the gun was Bentley looked himself in the mirror and saw a monster he half-accepted. He lost one brother, two more to a parkway shooting, and not having the first clue on how to "make" Corkscrew fall in line with society. There was no telling how he was going to explain his actions to the old fossil himself.

The following morning wasn't too kind to some of its inhabitants living in Holmdel. Alanna's upper body felt like gravity kept her glued to an operating table. The two bullet wounds, although weren't fatal, still stung like a son of a gun as she tried sitting up. Her head felt groggy; the ambient lighting in the basement helped with her sight, but didn't prepare her for what she saw next. Terry was still knocked out from the night before. Surrounding him were scraps of food as well as a broken plate scattered around his feet, but that wasn't the worst part. She feared the worst when she noticed the color red smeared all over his mouth.

Not to mention what looked to be a shock collar around his neck. The only other time she saw that was the second time Bentley was exposed to Soul Leaping. He took to it both times like a force of a nature, but there was no knowing what Terry did the night before. Henderson blackouts were a rarity amongst the younger siblings. She almost fell to her knees calling out, "Terry… psst, it's just me little man. I'm coming over to you. Don't be alarmed."

Pushing aside the plate fragments and candy wrappers, she got on his level and looked for a way to remove the collar. Her sweaty palms somehow triggered Terry's sense of smell; his eyes blew wide open, sending Alanna back. They weren't orange she thanked the lord, but something was definitely off.

"T, you're okay. Look at me." She tried calming him down. "It's Lana. Just listen to my voice."

Although he was alive though not exactly well, his head pounded like his brain was trying to break free. He looked up at her and said, "My head's killing me…"

"You took a bad knock when we crashed on the parkway. I don't even know how I'm gonna explain the truck… oh, god." She spoke, feeling flushed and sat next to him. "Mom's gonna pop a vein. That truck was all she had left of grandpa."

"No doubt Bentley will take… advantage of this." He replied looking around the place. "Sis, where are we?"

The sound of the basement door opened without warning, causing both siblings to stand their ground, or remain seated as their injuries suggested. What came through was the shape of a semi-heavy individual with the dressings of a doctor of sorts. He took out what looked to be a leather man purse and placed it on the operating table, giving them a distrustful glance as he, too, kept his distance. "I see you two don't waste time helping yourselves to Eli's candy stash. Got any left? My sugar level, if I don't get any Twizzlers in me-"

"Who the hell are you?" Alanna interrupted.

"… I see you enjoyed the PB & J I left for you, son." He addressed to Terry. "I wish Eli kept some bananas in the house, would've made you a PB and banana sandwich."

"You _won't_ keep us here."

"Dude, you got any aspirin lyin' around?" Terry asked, holding head together. "How much candy did I eat?"

"Why is there a goddamn shock collar on his neck?" She asked him.

"You two have been through a rough spell. The shooters that hit your truck are being tracked as we speak. Ms. Henderson… do you mind if I be blunt?"

"Might as well…?"

"I don't like your name. I do not like what you people do; what you live on, and how your foundation comes from decades of insanity. Your Aunt would turn over her grave. Now a little gratitude is a hop in place for me; I did patch you up nonetheless. Tell me, why are the cops scared of you?"

Alanna briefly sighed and looked on the ground for a second before looking him in the eye, "I dunno who told you, but we have no extended family; no Aunt to speak of. As for the police, I can remember every single death-

"Lana…" Terry called out.

"It's okay, T. If there's one thing dad taught us is to look our enemies in the eye and see what they're made of. And from what I can see, you're no needle pusher. I got blood on my hands, doc. The cops or someone else will catch up to us sooner or later. I'm just focused on keeping us alive."

"Well, then today is your lucky day." He spoke with optimism. "My name is Roger Eckstein. I tend to your Aunt on account of her "condition". She's been anxious to meet the both of you."

"Okay, Terry said, head's pounding again…"

"Now answer my question."

"Terrence is infected with your gas on a subconscious level. I have special medicine to get him on his feet, if the gas hasn't festered in his bloodstream."

"Crap… Bentley did this?" Terry asked, couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Follow me." He told her.

The Hendersons were a family once, but harsh truths and inconsistencies drove them apart. Each member wanted something the other rebelled against. When Corkscrew and Alanna left for the service, Bentley was all alone in trying to keep the business afloat. That was when their legacy began to crack; Jed and Holly kept reliving their glory days by taking out competition. Going from crashing block parties, influencing lowly street gangs to turn on each other, and Newark. There was no greater opportunity to lower the mugging rate than to drug assholes in hoodies breaking into people's cars, using their crowbars on each other instead.

It made Jed feel young again; a reminder of why he built upon his father's gas findings in the first place. Several years after his second and third born came home, Holly became pregnant with Juniper; a sixth child in their merry band of Soul Leapers. However, this new addition was different. While Holly welcomed an innocent apple-shaped head into the world, it awoken something awful in Jed, and it wasn't the hospital food either. Juniper was a spitting image of his older sister, Kenzie.

Unlike him, Kenzie was given too much freedom by their father in the development of the gas business. At first they were exercises, to see if she had what it took to inhabit the soul of someone else. It turned out she couldn't, or at least she wouldn't admit it to her own brother. Over the years, she found her personal solace with her boyfriend, Timothy. Being somewhat of a competitor to the Hendersons, for reasons unknown, her traded secrets with him put her in the wind and out of Jed's reach.

Unbeknownst to Alanna and Terry, they were about to meet the woman herself when they walked up the basement steps towards a lavish den. Whatever area of expertise "Eli" was into kept him above water and then some. It was like entering a new realm in the sunlight. As soon as they saw her, Alanna's heart skipped a beat. She had a subdued way of how she sat. If a heavy gust of wind were to burst through the window it would knock her over.

On the edge of the table were two blue tablets and a glass of water sparkling from the sun's reflection. Doctor Eckstein sat him down and administered the medicine, spoke of how his head swelling would go down as Alanna sat across from her. Faded brown hair, raised cheekbones, tall, leanly built; she had the physical qualities of a witch. What came out of her mouth was the same conviction their father bestowed on a daily basis, only for her it had a world weary tone to it.

"You've grown. I tell you." Kenzie chuckled, taking in her niece's appearance for the first time. "My brother sure knows how to make good looking children." Alanna's sensitive side came out when she'd gotten an intimate look at her Aunt. She had no idea she had extended family outside her immediate one. It took a minute to gather her thoughts on the one and a half million questions she had. But before she could spit out a word, Kenzie turned to the doc, "How are we looking with our "other patients?"

"They're in good spirits, Kenzie." He acknowledged. "They are ready for what comes next."

"Comes next…?" Alanna asked confusingly.

"We have a lot of catching up to do, all your brothers and little Jun." She said observing Alanna's wounds. "Your grandfather got shot in his forearm in Saigon before he was assigned to discover the source of the gas you call "Soul Leaping." As you can see, my face has seen better times."

Kenzie pushed her chair forward as the sunlight revealed the dark circles in her eyes. The years haven't been kind to a woman reaching fifty, but Alanna could tell she still had plenty of resolve and a dozen stories to tell. It wouldn't have been the first time either; the tales Jed and Holly would spin were inconsistent and embellished, like they were the steel pillars keeping the world from tumbling into deep dark space. After seeing what the gas can do, it was very easy for one to have an ego, especially if one comes out of it with his sanity intact. Unfortunately, that was never the case the way Kenzie described it.

It wasn't uncommon for New York families in the 60's and 70's to be rebellious, come from nothing with ironclad expectations from your elders. Lyle knew this all too well, she explained. It steered her mother down a dark place not even she knew existed. It would have been easier to accept she died after having Kenzie in some run-down hospital room or the backseat of a car, but that wasn't it. Leah Henderson, her mother was driven mad from gas exposure. Lyle had no idea what to do; his brain already fried from overuse of his own spoils. What came next nearly drove Kenzie to tears sitting before her niece and ailing nephew.

"I'm sorry. It has become a tedious order keeping my memories intact." She spoke as Alanna listened. "There has been a shift in your family dynamic, one I could see your parents answer for." She said before looking to Terry. "How are you holding up, honey?"

"I can't believe Bentley did this. After all the coddling I did for him before I shipped out."

"I am familiar with his track record." Kenzie brought up. "He thirsts for approval, as I once did. But rest assured, she leaned forward, your brother is _no_ threat."

"Bentley did what…whoa, what _is_ this stuff?" Terry asked, feeling lightheaded.

"One of Roger's invested projects; it's not on the market yet."

"It's an experimental drug I've been working on." Roger said, checking his pupils. "It alleviates tense muscles and makes you floaty, temporarily of course. It doesn't cure all ailments however. Studying the way Saigon made the gas has been an interesting read."

"Is the shock collar really necessary?" Alanna asked. "He looks like a disobedient dog with that thing."

Kenzie then nodded her head for Roger to remove the collar, "Doctor Eckstein is a personal friend of mine. He's been helping me with my scars."

"… Still can't believe we're related. I've always suspected but… I won't sugarcoat it. I know the Hendersons are beyond redemption, save a few. Too many people have gone under the gas's effect. If the service has taught me anything, is that sooner or later we all have to answer for our sins."

"And yet that day is not today." Kenzie made clear. "Another among you was a soldier as well, yes; Maurice?"

"He's one of the more reasonable types." She acknowledged. "I haven't spoken to him in months. He actually inspired me to join up. I thought seeing a new battlefield with green eyes for a change would put things in perspective. Bentley came undone when Mo and I left. I thought he would be the family favorite, considering the devotion he had to keep the business thriving."

"Oh, he has. Jedidiah respects him and loathes with equal measure. Your grandfather's emotional state from Saigon transferred to all of us."

"Our entire family is cracked." Terry joined in, still feeling woozy. "But who else do we have in this world?"

Kenzie sighed as she stood up slowly, "You have me, sweetheart. If you two would have me, that is. As I have said, we have a lot of catching up to do. If you want to save what is left of Bentley, Mickey, little Juniper, a genetic intervention will have to take place. We'll need to be smart in order for this to work."

"What are you planning to do?" Alanna asked.

"No one is above sin, she replied, it's a worldwide fact. The Henderson Boarding House on Staten Island, that's where we can settle four decades of bad blood in this family. This time has been coming for a while."

"Depending on the old man's mood, he might see this as a threat. He never spoke much of the Boarding House, but I know the place pretty good."

"Then what say you, Alanna?" She asked, holding out her hand. "With you and Maurice on my side, your father won't risk a blood feud. Shall we free ourselves from this curse?"

Twenty minutes meeting her long lost Aunt for the first time was still a lot to take in what she was asking. She spoke of ending the family curse as if the task could be settled with a loud debate, and Alanna had her fair share of those when she returned home from the service. With Soul Leaping as his crutch, Jed was hardly afraid of the rotten fruit the gas bore. But of all his outlandish stories of the Hendersons, the boarding house was off limits to both his brain and from the lips of his children. It was only a matter of time and angles to approach the matter. Kenzie presented herself as a methodical thinker.

Being the very first test subject for the gas and lived, she had the perspective of a dozen souls and how each train of thought ran. She knew Jed, or the "Jed" she used to know before their father changed him. The next two years was detailed in police files that the Hendersons worked in and out of the boarding house; dealings that were mysterious to the trained eye. The specifics became blurred when cops stopped looking into them, fearing what would happen if one blue blooded hero ventured into that house. The place became abandoned in August 2014, cutting off further details to the reason behind it.

Curiosity and minimal planning drove Nick, James, and Cayla to getting on a subway in New York, taking their wits all the way to Staten Island. There was no knowing of what they were going to find, but only one way to find out.


	7. Chapter 7: A War within Itself

"You asked me… when I met Mickey for the first time." Cayla told Nick on the subway. "Honestly, I didn't think anything of him. We were both sitting in the Team Service Center, waiting to be interviewed. He just seemed like a regular guy two years ago. Granted, he looked like the piss was beaten out of him. I remember the bruises on the left side of his face and this limp he had as he walked into Human Resources. It was none of my business, but I did notice something odd with him. He seemed… happy."

"Ha, yeah they all seemed "happy" before getting hired… until they get the job they didn't apply for." Nick replied. "He started out in Produce, right?"

"Marianne told me Guest Service wasn't taking any new Team Members on. It didn't seem to bother him much. He kept mostly to himself for the first few weeks. And just when his wounds healed up…"

"Shit… I almost forgot." He spoke with regret in his voice. "He had a girlfriend at the time."

"Helena, I think." She said. "She was going to school in New York. Five months into the job, he went from coming in like a decent guy to smelling like a distillery. Somethin' happened between them."

"That still doesn't explain his behavior, though. Five months working turned him into a hostile guy. I mean, I know everybody has a shitty day, but it's like he had some personal vendetta against somebody. I'd walk by Market and hear him rambling about a certain guy he wanted to "twist his top". Whatever that means…"

"Mickey sure was an oddball." She said. "Then I had to be the nice person and give him the time of day. We all know how that turned out."

"Hey, you're not in the wrong here. You understand?" Nick assured her. "Whatever happened between him and Helena, he had _no_ right to use you as a safety net. The guy was in his mid-twenties for Christ sake!"

"Wherever he is, let's pray we don't meet him in the future." She replied.

The subway going to Staten Island was a solemn morning for the three of them, James included. He spent the duration of the ride looking through the files Josh gave Nick before they'd set out. It was an interesting read he thought flipping through the pages. Mugshots, gas victims, and a Xeroxed copy of Lyle Henderson's last will and testament to his family, the boarding house. It was as Nick said about the photo; faded and misshapen.

The foliage around it was sketchy too; tree shrubs weren't tended to in a long time. Looking into Lyle's will, it stated his son Jed would inherit the house and all of its assets. However, there was no mention of Kenzie's piece in the family legacy. The document went on some length how Lyle's time in Saigon was a revelation not meant for the minds of ordinary men. His fought in Vietnam for seven months, searching and extracting workers from a lodge deep within a jungle somewhere.

It didn't go into where the orange gas came from or its original purpose overseas, but it turned out the boarding house became a "House of Mazes" when he was fit to leave his hospital days behind him. He and his wife Leah spent much of their time there, so did Jed and his children, forging his own humble beginnings from a New York borough to various areas around the city. These Hendersons knew how to get around James told them. What made his voice quiver was the thought that the gas could possess anyone at any time; it made him do a double take on the concept of two-faced individuals. How do we know if we're in complete control of our actions?

Are we capable of suppressing our savage nature for the sake of others? New York cops in some aspects had to resort to emulating savage instincts to get the more gruesome jobs done. There was a list of officer names that took on the Henderson operation and never returned. For James, he was skeptical on whether all 126 cops were confirmed dead. If there was one thing he learned having a profiler for an uncle, the paperwork wasn't always accurate. Details go astray, images get distorted like the boarding house, and the fear of the unknown clouded all three as they were about to perform rookie detective work on forbidden ground. Twenty minutes of cold silence and keeping their eyes on their phones, James wanted to find a way to put their minds at ease; easier said than done he thought after looking through the files for the first time.

"So once we get over there… run it by me again, Nick." He said.

"We're going to the boarding house to poke around, see if we find anything to put the hurt on the Hendersons. They gotta have some kind of blind spot. Oh, he paused before un-zippering his duffle bag, we're going to need these just in case."

James grabbed one of the gas masks before saying, "But… these won't be necessary, right? These aren't exactly the "crap where I eat" types."

"It's more than likely they're still making the gas there." Cayla chimed in. "Didn't you say a female Henderson was seen there recently?"

"Real question is why the news snooping around the place?" Nick asked. "It's not like they can do much to shut them down. And Law Enforcement's too damn scared to get in close."

"And how do you think we'll fare?" James asked. "Look, I'm not having second thoughts. Well, maybe some. I just want to be sure we're not going into this blind."

"That's _not_ happening." Nick made clear. "Guys, I know this is a risky trip. My parents don't even know I'm on this train, and if my two older brothers know what's good for them, they'll keep their mouths shut." He went on as Cayla smirked at him. "What? Cayla, it was one time and in their defense, what happens at the Poconos stays there. Alright, once we get to Staten Island we take our time. We stay together and keep record of all the rooms we go into."

"Wait, ha, it just came to me." She brought up. "Mickey told me a week before he was thrown out he was studying to become an Architect. What about the male Henderson going into the house a few weeks before the other did?"

"Where are you going with this?" Nick asked.

"If Mickey wasn't bullshitting that time, we might be talking "dead end" here. He seemed committed on sketching this one house that already existed. I just hope the place wasn't cleaned out or renovated."

"Only one way to find out…" Nick spoke.

Reaching their stop wasn't the problem, nor was the investigation ahead. New York had been in a state of unrest since the most southernmost borough was caught in a blood feud two years before. Prior to this venture, Nick's spare time from school was devoted to researching everything he knew about the boarding house. A short story from a gloomy bystander was posted in the obituaries section of the New York Times. The issue was distributed one day before it was taken off the press.

The rest of the city only had crowd hearsay as to what took place before a copy was posted on all social networks. Nick followed the Google trail of blocked sources until he found a paraphrased version on Instagram. "The Henderson Family Resurgence" it was titled, depicting a major event between the two descendants of Lyle Henderson. Kenzie planned to have a sit down with her brother on altering the direction Soul Leaping was heading. With drugs like marijuana legally accepted by the government, how long before other drugs were ratified for parties, young and old, to partake?

The group walking inside the house were shady types, mostly because the sit down took place at night; 11:30 as it was stated in the story. It wasn't enough to be called a small army, but their silhouettes were described as people tooled up for a firefight. Two hours spying on their meeting behind a gold cell shaded window on the lower east end of the house, the writer explained vividly of the raised voices, leading to objects being thrown around and gunfire going off. Running away, sweating and hyperventilating by a booming sound breaking the hinges off the front door, the sit down reared its ugly head when a white haired man with a smug expression had his "friends" attack Kenzie, Alanna, and a tall individual with the bearing of a military officer. Details went on about his height, the trigger discipline he had around his aunt.

If Nick didn't know better, he'd have thought the writer was part of the feud. Perhaps a gas victim but the real truth of what took place eluded him still. What he took away from it all was Jed had "soul leapers" doing his bidding, and turned the tide against his own blood. It was starting to sound like fantasy, hence the reason the New York Times took the article off a day later. Then, one name came up towards the end that was able to liberate the boarding house before any further bloodshed: Julien Adamo. The Manalapan Unit somehow had jurisdiction in the south borough; for reasons that were, again, never explained.

Nick never met him in person, but LOD Jim used to describe him as being a bottle rocket. When he sinks his teeth into a criminal case, he pools every resource he could find and make sure said criminals are in the electric chair. Julien was obsessed that way Jim called it. There were a lot of officers he respected over the years, but he considered Julien to be the most ambitious. Whatever his involvement against the Hendersons was never revealed to the press, neither was described in the short story.

It ended on the hearing of police sirens, covering every window with red and blue flashes. It was before long, the three young rookie detectives arrived in the heart of Staten Island. It being the summer there were a great many people walking around in beach wear. The streets went on its usual routine of traffic jams, music blasting in the background, and corner stores selling goods such as bootleg DVDs and knockoff jewelry. They stuck out like sore thumbs carrying duffel bags full of tools and Ziploc bags; James most of all.

He kept to his dark brown khakis and Marvel T-shirt with the Infinity Gauntlet on the front. Out of the three of them however, he was the most relaxed being in the line of work as a "Con Man." Walking along the street, he saw potential opportunity to give comic book fans what their bank accounts would not. Nick pulled out his phone and Google mapped where the boarding house was located, telling the others, "It's on the other side of Oakwood, east central on the island. We just need to go twelve blocks to Port Richmond Glass."

"Or we can grab a taxi." James suggested.

"Oh, no, no, no, no…" Cayla stopped them. "Cab drivers are bad news around here. Are you guys forgetting we're still in summer? The Guido brigade will be out in bulk."

"I've dealt with the Jersey Shore once, or their non-famous counterparts. Last I check a 27 year old guy from Brooklyn was vying to get a Guido superhero comic off the ground."

"Seriously, how'd that turn out?" Nick asked.

"A lawsuit was sent out by Dark Horse comics and he was never heard from again. His temperament however wasn't as obvious as the typical Guido."

"I know a place where we can rent a car." Cayla said. "It's not gonna be cheap though."

New York wasn't founded on its wholesome humanity. As they moved through five blocks checking out the scenery as they went along, it didn't take much for the Italian rejects to make an appearance coming out of a mini-mall on New Springfield. These Guidos were like bloodhounds, buzzed out of their sawdust filled brains and sporting stale Axe spray. Every woman strutting their way was hit on in a disturbing way, spitting out every stereotype they could think of. Nick, James and Cayla kept looking to cross the street, but traffic doing 50 MPH on a 30 speed limit road prevented them from doing so.

There was nothing left to do but clench their bags tight and blend in with the crowd. Getting closer and closer to the smell of aftershave, one of them caught a glimpse and wanted to cause a scene of sorts. Cayla looked away and ducked behind different people to avoid them. Ducking and doing limbo under some foul-mouthed college girls, the crowd began spreading out to other avenues and flipped off the Guids in the process. "Think we're good…" Cayla told them, power walking further from the mall.

Two locals shoved James near the edge of the sidewalk and fell behind from the others. Shaking his head, he squeezed through the crowd to catch up when a male J-Wow looking juicer put him in an arm-lock. The aroma of kelp juice and workout gym never felt as sickening to James as it did in that moment. "Keep walkin' towards your friends," he threatened the conman. His Jersey accent sounded like a poor man's DeNiro; intimidating nonetheless. As for the crowd, they didn't have a care in the world for what was going on. James took a deep breath looking for Nick and Cayla. That was when he saw them looking up and around the mall for him to show up. Suddenly, the Guido whistled three of his goons as they moved across the street.

"Ah, shit…" James said to himself.

"Ey, guys! We got a few rule breakers here!"

"That right? This ain't good for the three of ya's." One of them said. "What should we do about it, Sal?"

"Gentlemen, James called out, we're tourists. We have no quarrel with your kind."

"Shut up and walk." Sal replied. "Joey, Olly, blend in with the folks on the other end of the street. If those two run, cut 'em off. But leave the girl unharmed. Blondie here can redeem the day."

Sal wasted no time looking through James's duffel bag, finding some nifty toys to use if things went south. In that moment, James regretted bringing a blowtorch to muscle shirt territory. Apart from his notebook and black profiler kit, he was the one traveling the lightest. He wanted to scream, tell them to run like hell and never look back; that would be the natural reaction. But seeing Guidos turning harmless scenarios into big blowouts, he kept his mouth shut and let his captor do the talking.

He ordered Nick and Cayla into a wide alleyway next to a Quizno Sub restaurant. Their nerves were shot at this point. All three didn't have enough muscle mass between them to go Street Fighter on them. Joey and Olly emerged from the busy crowds like ghosts through a wall, and stood before them for a shakedown no one in that alley was going to forget.

"You were smart not to scream." Sal told James, pushing him forward. "Get over there. Your blonde friend told me you three are tourists walkin' 'round NY's finest borough. How do you like it so far?"

"Come on guys, we don't want any trouble." Nick reasoned as they all surrounded them.

"Trouble, you asked for trouble when you dashed past our homeboys at the mall!" Olly mentioned.

"Yeah…" Joey said in a deep tone.

"Alright, let's try this again." Sal spoke, calming the situation. "We're aspiring businessmen by trade. You see, the media has shallowed the fairer sex way too long, unless you're ScarJo."

"Black Widow man, ever since _Avengers_ …" Joey brought up as he and Olly laughed.

"We're settin' up shop over on the Lower East Side. It's a refugee center where abused women can get away from their relationships for a while."

"What do you offer them?" James asked when Cayla elbowed his shoulder.

Joey and Olly nodded at each other before retorting, "Us…"

"We live in the age of heroism flicks, my friends." Sal told them. "In a nutshell, we turn abused chicks into Jean Greys and She-Hulks. Call it a twelve step program without the silent judgment."

Throughout the entire exchange, Cayla couldn't fathom the bullshit that was being spun around by the three stooges. She then stepped forward with a thought in her head, "Question! This rehab mumbo jumbo… is it year-round or do you just whistle at every B-cup broad batting your way?"

The sting of her comeback was felt all around, intriguing Sal something awful. Like many of his upbringing, he was accustomed to the backtalk of women with butter faces and spray tan lifers, but once again Cayla was proving to be one to observe for the long haul. Indistinct chatter occurred with the two stooges behind Nick and James as Sal wanted to instigate the situation further. He spoke a short length about how New York was becoming a dying breed; how he said that with a straight face felt like a cold stab to the chest, but it was the truth. The Big Apple was no stranger to the face of devastation.

The city that never sleeps is a city that never dies, and if the Henderson name wasn't in abundance these days that fact would still ring true. The alleyway tension amongst the six of them dropped down to a simmer when Sal tried to act sincere. The Hendersons, namely "Corkscrew" was making some "loud noise" as he described around the rougher parts of the city. For reasons they didn't know for certain, the family feud that launched a tide of orange gas two years ago was not yet won. Anyone affected or with a compelling need to turn such a tide had been looking to their own roots to rise up, and drive the wretched heathens out of their city.

It wouldn't be the first time either. In some ways, New York had been at war for decades, before 9/11 made it clear protecting their own was the only way to best the dark years ahead. Sal then continued how his rehab program was going to bring superheroes into the harsh reality. Another cold, hard fact was that people have been fighting internal struggles from the moment of birth to their last breath with little to no breathing room in between. The same could be said for the stereotypical guidos whistling for candidates at the mall.

"We don't wanna hurt you." Sal made clear. "I want us to understand each other so that we can give those Hendersons a spoonful of their own gas."

"I went to school with Corkscrew; a real fuckin' putz if ya ask me." Joey interjected. "Just because he went overseas doesn't make him better than us, or his pig headed sister."

"Y'all hear about that slaughter at Seaside Heights two years ago? The cops went from chicken dinner to winner for once that night…. until the firing squad showed up the next day and met the same fate as other cops before."

Nick then raised his voice, "That's why we're going to bring those shitheads down."

"One of them used to work with us at a retail store back in Jersey." James brought up. "I've seen Soul Leaping up close."

"Shit, you have?" Olly asked. "What the hell was it like?"

"This sounds like a "we want the same thing" type situation." James brought up. "Just let us do what we came here and we'll forget we ever saw you guys."

"You have your battles and we have ours, Nick replied, plain and simple."

It's never just simple the way Cayla perceived it. In the intense stare down between her and Sal there was a moment; an odd yet familiar one. During the exchange, she noticed his left eye quickly changed color from black to a flash of orange. She thought it was the lighting at first, but if Marianne's lessons on working retail were of any note, don't take what the guest says at face value, whether it would be an issue with an item or a nagging feeling the entire time they were held at gunpoint. Cayla backed away slowly and without reflex time, Sal grabbed her arm and said, "You pocket protectin' yokels can go. This one'll do nicely…"

She was afraid something like this would happen; nothing like a swift kick to his chin wouldn't fix however. She then turned around as Nick and James punched the other two in the nuts, grabbed their bags and darted out of the alleyway, hopefully into the backseat of a taxi. There was no car rental place in sight. Running and frantically looking for an escape, the crowd walking past the mall made things difficult for the three when the guido guards and the alley stooges revealed orange eyes. Screams ensued as people shoved past each other; this was way worse than Nick thought.

A few minutes of blending in with the confusion, James once again was separated from the others. Cayla and Nick went hot under the collar as they called his name out through the crowd. The guidos were seen moving in split second intervals. Cayla saw firsthand how the gas made the victim stronger, but not move the way they did. Looking for a way out, Nick saw an intersection on 46th Street.

No more than two steps forward he suddenly got punched in the face, damn near broke his jaw. When he looked up, Sal stood before him in a whole new light. New scratches bleeding through his ripped clothes with nothing but orange eyes towering over Nick. "New York will rise against Jedidiah Henderson." He spoke in a lower octave. "And you won't fuck it up…" Then, out of nowhere a taxi drives through the fearful horde and ran over Sal with bold purpose. Cayla helped him on his feet when he heard James shout out from the taxi, "I got us a ride. Let's go!"

Both threw themselves into the hot backseat as James ordered the driver to get them out and towards Oakwood. The taxi burned rubber and onto more normal avenues until they were safely away from the mall.

"Holy shit, that's the second time! I'm glad you're still with us." Cayla shivered with fear, holding Nick's face. "You really took one for the team, hon."

"What the hell happened back there?" James asked.

"Those assholes in the alley… they're gassed. Ow!" Nick spoke with a busted jaw.

"Corkscrew must've caught on to their plans to "rise up". I thought this was going to be a simple detective case."

"Seems like the plot thickens with every step we take." Cayla replied. "We need to be ready to fight if those guidos track us."

"You think we're ready for that?" James asked.

"Hell no, we're not prepared to handle those odds. But if there's a god watching over us, I hope he'll see us through. First S.K., now…"

"We're tougher than we give ourselves credit for." Nick said softly. "Let's just… reach the boarding house."

If what Sal said was true about New York being at war with itself, there was no telling how long riots and Government sanctioned quarantines will take place, making daily lives more difficult to deal with. For the time being they were in the clear, but not for Nick's conscience. He kept beating himself up for not being in the store when "Mickey" made his resurgence with the gas. It felt almost like a part-time job trying to keep his head in the real world. Seeing Soul Leaping in the eyes of Italian rejects was like staring a nightmare in the face. He wanted to fight back, but his jaw prevented him from doing so. If there really was a god, he used the time he spent in the taxi praying they'll breathe tomorrow.

As they got themselves together for the Henderson House, Matt decided to take the scenic route over the Verrazano Bridge. Much to his surprise, the traffic planted from one end of the bridge to the other was going to be frustrating he thought. He moved at a snail's pace with the air conditioner broken in his car. It would have been easier to take the subway all the way through; even as a Digital Advisor for Blue Bulls-Eye he didn't always think long term. He partially depended on Josh when it came to damage control with the guests.

In brutal summer conditions, he wouldn't trust himself to think with a cool head, and especially driving in the Big Apple. Savage tendencies would take over, such as getting red in the face and causing a tantrum, something that was a sickness in his family on his mother's side. 45 minutes in and not even halfway across, other drivers around him started getting antsy. Horns were blowing, profanities were shouted out; "Y'all need to calm the fuck down, Matt said to himself, guess everyone's a/c isn't working either." Another ten minutes go by; this time Matt was feeling it.

He felt this nagging sensation to get out of his car and walk the rest of the way, maybe knock a head or two when it came to it. His phone went off all of a sudden accompanied by the Skype ringtone. Matt wiped the sweat off his forehead and saw an exhausted, yet snazzy looking Josh on the other line.

"'Bout time you called." Matt said. "I almost lost it for a minute."

 _"_ _The a/c still not working; thought you were gonna fix that."_ Josh asked.

"Well, you know me. I don't always think ahead." He replied, noticing his crumpled tie. "Are you going to a funeral?"

 _"_ _Don't you remember? Lisa and I are driving up to Corporate today to sort out what happened at the store."_

"Shit, that's right. Is she with you right now?" He asked when Lisa came over by Josh.

 _"_ _Sup Matt, how's the Big Apple? You couldn't take us along for some crime fightin', huh?"_

"Hey, Lisa, I think you got some lipstick on your overbite." Matt chuckled pointing to where the smear was.

Being a second Human Resources associate, presentation to her was everything. Like Josh, she hadn't been sleeping well since Corporate turned the stress levels up to eleven in the store. Every day became a verbal battle for them, but as they prepared a case to present to the higher representatives, albeit a long shot, Lisa was especially optimistic on turning things around for Blue Bulls-Eye. Then again, outside work she maintained an optimistic view for Red's Apple Ale so the two points of reference were fair game. She took out a small mirror to check for any red teeth. Much to her surprise, her eyes slowly veered Matt's way as he returned the favor with an "innocent" smile. "I'll meet you at the car, Josh told her, I gotta touch base with something first."

Two tired out Leaders on Duty going toe to toe with the big corporate wigs; somehow it made Matt grateful he was out on a hot bridge with the vibrant drivers cussing at one another. Before getting back to Josh, he took out a pair of binoculars from his glove compartment and took a walk towards a viewing end of the bridge. Car horns became a crescendo, forcing Matt to put on his headphones to drown out the noise; all the good that was at the time.

 _"_ _I just want you to know I'm grateful for you going through with this. Mickey might still be out there somewhere."_

"What about Jim's friend from the Unit? Where does he land on this?"

 _"_ _Last I heard, Julien was doing some off-the-books investigation on the mother hen of the Henderson family; Holly, I believe. She went into hiding after a big fight went down at the boarding house two years ago."_

"Should I be expecting him? Given his track record, the dude went all in and almost didn't make it." He replied, seeing people gathering to one spot on the bridge. "Hey, Josh, I'm going to be cooped up on the bridge for an hour or so. I'm gonna see if I can move things along."

 _"_ _Okay, I'll smooth things over on my end. With any luck, Lisa's wit and my charming good looks could save the day…"_ Josh said as both dropped into an awkward moment. _"I should get some coffee in me first."_

"That would be wise." He acknowledged. "I'll text you when I'm close. Good luck."

Both of Matt's shoulders were being shoved when one of the drivers shouted a disturbance taking place on the East end of the Verrazano. Putting his phone away and getting out his binoculars, he moved through the crowd to get a better view. It looked like a police escort at first from a distance; the kind of escort when a loved one is about to be buried, but that wasn't it. Matt kept pushing forward when a Brooklyn born senior citizen decided to do the same thing. Indistinct chatter circled all over the place.

That was when he caught the word "Corkscrew" from one of them. From what he saw in the mugshots, Corkscrew had the build of an enforcer who did hard time for the family. His binoculars then caught a few motorcycles riding behind what looked to be an improvised motorcade. The line of vans driving were spray painted and the ones riding bikes were too thin to be a threat. It was too far to take a picture on his phone Matt thought, when suddenly that same old man from Brooklyn butted into the situation. "Those are gassers, the old man quivered, dear mother of god…"

"Hey, Matt tried getting his attention, do you know those guys down there?"

"Know 'em… I fought 'em, kid." He looked him straight in the eye. "These people need to wake up, or become a gassed one. Eyes aren't what they used to be. You had a loved one who fought in Nam?"

"No, my granddad never fought in Vietnam, thank god. I heard someone say "Corkscrew" before. Is he the one leading that motorcade?"

"It is standard procedure, son. New York is on the cusp of a new Civil War between the D40 Hellspawns, and a Henderson survivor from the Boarding House siege back in '13. My theory is that the Harlem street gang is still pissed that Corkscrew broke a peaceful alliance between them."

"Holy shit, he said, how'd that happen?"

"Beats me, I live on the other side of the river, but if I were you I'd wait in my car until the cops let us out." He said before whispering, "Everyone here… they have no clue what's runnin' that convoy. We best pray they don't."

"I gotta make some calls." He said. "My name's Matt."

As he shook his hand, he introduced himself as, "Turner, Elliot Turner, crossfire victim in the Saigon campaign. I need to call my wife."

Turner had a spry energy about him moving away from the madness. When Matt took one last look at the far away motorcade heading north, he didn't want to take any chances. Cayla, Nick and James were still his priority. Running back to his car with sun burning the tip of his forehead, a tiring thought crossed his mind on the number of things he wanted to do other than chase an ex-soldier through the city. It was only a matter of time before they backpacked across city landscape and through Staten Island.

He sat in his car looking through Google searches on Elliot Turner, hoping the others are stay safe and on the move if need be. S.K. speaking through Mickey was one thing, but going up against who might potentially be the most dangerous member of the Henderson family, now those were odds he didn't want to contend with. The destination to the Boarding House was more taxing on James than anyone else. According to the cab driver, he made it abundantly clear about a law for all escort vehicles to stay away from any Henderson territory. Nick on the other hand was hell-bent on getting there as James kicked in his pitch about the teen angst angle in Superhero shows.

The others in the cab thought he was crazy, causing the driver to go on a brief rant about how live-action films were killing off the magic of comic books. Convenient yet opportune, James pitched an abridged version of how directors should have a stack of respective source material with them on set. It took a rousing thirty minutes of back and forth banter, but before they knew it they were on hollow soil with a run-down Boarding house ahead. Right then, Cayla was getting bad vibes from the place. It was surrounded by barbed wire fences that went around in a rectangular fashion.

The house's foundation felt out of place as well, like it was built from another time period and still stood to this day. Both she and Nick got out of the cab and took in the environment around them. It was as they expected; no cops were guarding the area, but guard dogs were still up for debate she thought. She wasted no time putting on her gas mask and gripping her duffle bag as tight as she could. James caught up with $200 less in his wallet and a dying thirst for Blue Frost Gatorade. He couldn't hide the fact the very scale of the house took his breath away. To him, it was half the size of a haunted mansion in one of his survival horror games.

"This place is huge." Cayla said in disbelief.

"Barbed fences, abandoned part of the borough, cab drivers being told to stay away, did you guys ever expect someone like Mickey to live here?"

"He'd like to gloat about a "house of mazes" he used to grow up in before moving to Jersey. Seeing it now, I kinda feel sorry for him."

"Well, if there's a way to weaken their Soul Leaping supply or how to fight them, that's where we're going to find it." Nick said as both put on their gas masks. All three put their duffle bags on the ground while he continued, "Pick a weapon, any weapon, we don't know who might still be here."

"Ah, there you are." Cayla said taking out a Swiss Army Knife from her bag. "Daniela lent it to me before we left, even has a four finger grip so I don't drop it."

"It could come in handy." James said taking out a flashlight and a black case.

"I heard Daniela might not be coming back to the store." Nick said, walking towards the house.

"She has her daughter to think about. And with the way things are, we all should be looking for other jobs." She replied before tossing a stun gun Nick's way.

Seen one stun gun, he has seen them all. Looking through the tinted lenses, he knew where this was going to lead. He then chuckled before saying, "Really, this inside joke is four years old."

"Just keeping things light, dear," she replied, "I'll never forget that pool party back in Freshman Year."

"That roast beef was undercooked. And how was I to know-

"Shh, James said, thinking he heard distant growling, better charge up that X26."

"Get down…" Cayla immediately spoke as they hid.

It was as they feared. They were halfway towards the house entrance with little to no sound other than their own. They took flight behind some old bushes on the west end of the yard which barely provided any cover. The shrubs were rotten beyond repair, but looking over to where the growling was coming from there were seven cages in the shape of an arrow pointing south. One of them contained a Blood Python, among other species of snakes.

Of all the animals James considered "bad ass" in their own right, Blood Pythons and Boa Constrictors knew how to get under his skin. In a weird way, he'd rather play Blackjack with a tarantula than tango with an oversized snake, and he wasn't afraid to admit that to anyone. Each of their hearts beat in different motions, and Nick usually being the optimist of his co-workers he knew bee lining to the door was the only option. They could run like hell towards the door and barricade it out of fear from the other side. Cayla wasn't as optimistic.

She knew better than provoke a snake that could choke the life out of someone; decisions, decisions. The cages went from simple clanking on the bars and turned it up a notch. "Those snakes know we're here." Nick adjusted his jaw. "They probably sense our fear or something…" There was no time to lose; swim or receive a hug you won't forget. All three stood up with their weapons of choice firmly in their hands. Taking a deep breath as each took their first step… the sounds of frantic heartbeats were all that remained.


	8. Chapter 8: House of Mazes

8

House of Mazes

As all three raced to the front of the boarding house, their footsteps went from rapid heartbeats to seeing their surroundings in a slow blur. The seven Blood Pythons inside their cages let out an ear cringing screech, sending their teeth on edge and only forcing them to run faster. James caught a glimpse of one of them; the widened, beige eyes staring right back at him with a ferocious need to break free. He didn't look long enough to see if they were under the gas's influence, but if Corkscrew or another Henderson turned a bunch of snakes savage, that was when he almost hit his head on the front door. The craftsmanship alone wasn't from this century.

It had a Victorian London look to it; dark brown with five locks rusted shut. "Nick, he shouted, use this blowtorch!" James tossed it to him from his bag as a nerve shot teenager went to work on the door. Cayla stood next to him, trying to ease him in melting the locks as the pythons weren't long for freedom. Then, as soon as one lock hit the ground two pythons broke through their metal prisons, swiftly slithering from the pointy tip of the arrow formation. His heart rate was at an all-time high; hyperventilating and demanding to know, "Nicholas, hurry the hell up!"

Nick had a brief sigh of relief when two locks dropped and another three to burn through. Cayla moved as soon as Nick was confident enough to help James out front. Both quivered as the pythons moved closer with another one on the loose. She handed him a hammer from her bag, "Maybe we shoulda stayed home today!"

"Got any ideas?!" James asked.

"Not getting bit is a start." She replied, looking at the wide front yard. Cayla noticed a hollow opening on the upper right hand corner. "I'll ah… I'm gonna lure the snakes over on that side of the yard. You see one get close you knock it out with that hammer."

Nick shouted over to them, "We're almost in! Two more locks!"

"They're getting close!" Cayla shouted. "It's now or never!"

Another race for their lives was not something James had in mind for detective work, but his feet made the effort as both of them lured the three snakes away from the door. James managed to hit one square in the head. When they had reached the hollowed opening, the remaining pythons slithered their way in the same direction. Their hearts pounded still, and by dumb luck and no inkling as to how she managed it, Cayla clenched one of them as tight as she could, stabbing it in the head as hard as she was able. The hammered python lunged at him as he leaped out of the way; his fear spiked up to 100% soon after.

Six pythons surrounded him and every ounce of willpower he had compelled him not to scream. Even with Nick's sweaty palms, he melted the last rusty lock and immediately called out, "WE'RE IN! COME ON!" There was no time to lose so Cayla took the snake carcass and whistled the others to go after her. It was a long sprint back. As soon as she threw the carcass their way she sprinted like it was her last day on this planet with James following suit.

Before all three knew it, they made it inside as Nick slammed the vintage door behind them. The Maplewood foundation was thick enough to keep the pythons from gnawing in. Suddenly, the hissing sounds grounded to a halt as Nick barricaded the door with his own body. What a rush they thought as the adrenaline inside them began to thin out, seeing their world slip back into focus.

"Holy shit… is everybody alright?" Nick asked as he sweated bullets from his face.

"… How the hell did I do that?" Cayla asked herself. "I stabbed one of them without getting bit. My hands are still shaking."

"You still got those reflexes." He smiled. "James, are you good?"

"Define good, Nick, I damn near soiled myself over a few snakes. Granted, a few engorged, bloodthirsty snakes, but… I'm still in one piece."

"We're finally here." She acknowledged. "Come away from the door, slowly. They might still be out there."

"Kay, he said pulling his stiff arms away and crawling towards the others, let's regroup over in that foyer area. We need to get our bearings before pushing on."

It took a few minutes to get their minds right. The hissing from the outside remained a complete halt; luckily the foyer was a good distance away from the main floor. "Lived in" was a grave understatement when it came to the interior of the boarding house. History was embedded into every floorboard, every wall, it became the core of a b-horror movie. When they reached the foyer, it was one horrific image after another.

It had the makings of a fight's aftermath. Blood was smeared on various parts of the walls, but strangely enough the vintage table in the center of the foyer was still intact. At that point, Cayla didn't know what to think. She was freaked and a part of her wanted to get out as soon as possible. She then reminded herself on the reason they came to Staten Island in the first place. First guidos, now horror tropes; this was turning into a day that when all three are old and gray, they would drown the etched images from shot glasses.

Unlike James and Cayla however, Nick in his spare time was a horror movie watching nerd. From _Silence of the Lambs_ to getting his Crystal Lake on, he was somewhat jaded to the elements around him. That was when he stopped himself and made a mental note to rethink his priorities. Once they checked the other two openings around the foyer, the coast was clear for them to plan out what they were going to do. They carefully put their duffle bags on the table with the police files scattered.

"Hey Nick, remember you were telling us about that short story being a one day release for the New York Times?" James asked. "Did it describe the layout of this place?"

"I dunno. Whoever wrote the real article had a clear way of avoiding the Hendersons when they lashed out. From the look of this place, this area took the worst of it."

"How could Mickey live in a shithole like this?" Cayla asked in disbelief. "No wonder he lost it."

"Wasn't his girlfriend Helena the cause of that?" James interjected. "I'm starting to think she was connected to this house. I mean, none of us know the full story here."

"Well, that's why we're investigating." Nick replied. "I know we took a huge gamble coming here, but since we're still breathing thank god, let's go over our plan. According to Julien Adamo's report, the boarding house is a three level establishment. When he and his unit stormed in to stop the massacre, it spread all over this first floor. He even recalled seeing a "soul leaper" leaping towards the third floor, describing Jed Henderson's "friends" as "demonic"."

"Maybe the gas… ah Jesus, maybe it mutates the victim into some kind of deformity." Cayla brought up when she suddenly heard a thump. "Did you hear that?"

"I heard it too." James whispered. "Alright guys, we need to be smart moving forward. We're not alone in this place."

"Well, you're the horror expert, Nick." She told him. "I think we should stay together, investigate one room at a time."

"It'll take too long. And if whatever's in here sees us, we're screwed." Nick said, holding up the blowtorch. "It's out of juice."

"Shit… well, I'm not going anywhere by myself. That's how horror movie tropes begin. First, the brother gets it, then the hot chicks and the token douchebag gets his in the end. Splitting up is a mistake."

"Anybody have chalk?" Cayla wanted to know. "I can mark the steps we take in case we need to double back. This house is huge and apart from these masks, we don't exactly have guns to protect us."

"We have each other, Cayla." He made clear. "Okay, we stay together entering a room. We take whatever evidence we can and present them to Josh. Anybody wanna say a Hail Mary?"

Mickey wasn't fooling around when once upon a time he told Cayla about being an Architect. The old boarding house by the lower level alone felt like a maze. Each room felt the same; empty space with a hint of mystery tugging at them. One can only imagine what the basement looked like, let alone the upper two levels of the establishment. As they made foot traffic in their rookie investigation, movement of a different kind went forward and off the Verrazano finally.

Matt scarfed down any kind of beverage he had stored in his two cup holders except the two week old coffee. It kept his mind on task without so much dwelling on his temperament in the heat. "At last," he said to himself; cops on the other end of the bridge heading downtown were guiding traffic. At least they were making an effort in keeping innocents away from Henderson activity. The direction Corkscrew's motorcade was cut off when the police put up barricades. Matt hit the right hand corner of his wheel out of frustration as he proceeded to move through the crowded intersections.

Looking on his GPS, he was coming up towards a street called Ellis where there was a Majestic Arms gun store on the map. Corkscrew went to prison for his family as well as served in the military, and from what Elliot Turner told Matt on the bridge about a Harlem street gang wanting payback, there was going to be blood on the floor. Matt didn't take it on faith Nick, Cayla and James were armed to protect themselves so he decided to take a detour to Majestic to pick up some protection himself. When he pulled into the parking lot, the gun store had a message on the front door saying, _"If your business with us includes anything with the Hendersons, please take your business elsewhere. You have been warned."_ Matt put his on sunglasses and walked inside the air conditioned place where his confidence boosted up. A lucky break he felt, he could pitch his reasons for buying a weapon without giving away his true intentions.

The place was quiet, few witnesses; some looked shady, but this was New York after all. He browsed around for a bit to get a feel for the place before his mind was cool enough to speak to the owner. Majestic on the inside looked more pseudo-school for gun training than an actual store. The guns on display were encased in bullet proof glass: Mausers, Bolt Action, Remington 700s, Matt wanted to keep a close eye on the boarding house without getting up close and personal with Corkscrew. After perusing the store a good fifteen minutes, he noticed suspicious looks coming from the owner. He made his way to the cashier's desk.

"Finished with your runway, David Beckham?" The store owner asked. "If you're not here to talk turkey…"

"How're you doing? I was wondering if you could show me a complete custom look of the M40A3, tactical grade."

The owner then spoke in a passive-aggressive manner, "What's your business with this weapon?"

" _Not_ for the Hendersons." Matt replied immediately. "I read your sign out front."

"Then if you're familiar with Majestic's reputation, we don't sell surplus with a war on the streets, especially now. Forgive me for being skeptic young man, but I don't take chances these days."

"I understand the Hendersons did a number on this city and some close co-workers of mine back in Jersey. The M40 rifle is for sentimental reasons."

Frederick, the Majestic's owner, had a hardened way about him, pardon the stereotype in Matt's mind. He used to watch a lot of action movies as a child, to channel is temper into a relieving regiment. _Rambo_ , _The Terminator_ , _Alien_ , any movie that had an action punch to them was fair play. When he saw _The Expendables_ for the first time it all made sense, thought it brought him to this exact moment where he was looking at a potentially hardened vet in the eyes and see if his legs were either jell-0 or pillars. Fred went on a brief tangent how the store's reputation in Staten Island was on high demand.

People of all ages would pour into the store, buy up any kind of stopping power they deemed necessary, but it'd gotten to a point where enough was enough. As the demand for his guns grew, so did the number of "gassed converts" as he described them Corkscrew filled in his ranks. The war between Corkscrew and the D40 Hellspawns wasn't exactly a secret. Harlem took the lives of its people seriously. When two teenagers fall prey to Soul Leaping, the Hellspawns tooled up what they had and began attacking them.

"I remember it being a month, not even, after that boarding house got invaded that Corkscrew came out of the shadows." The plot thickened ever still when Fred told him how the gas affected people depending which Henderson was out and about. "This place almost got ransacked once. I dunno why I'm tellin' you all this." He got out a couple Mac-11's, polishing them with a rag. "You look to be a privileged kid."

"Looks can be deceiving." Matt replied.

"Yeah, no shit. The ass clowns who raided my store were these spray-tan, ghetto wannabes with the sole intent on "rehabilitating" women so they don't fall victim to the gas. They squat around a mall on the other side of town, looking for willing candidates. That's when I saw what they really were."

"They were infected by the gas, too?"

"You'd never know with these guys. Rumor is Bentley, Corkscrew's older brother, weaponized the gas to hide his victims in plain sight." He replied before looking down at the glass casing. "I was… sleeping in the back room when I heard the shattered glass."

"It pays to be overly cautious. Look, the M40 sniper rifle is for my old man. He passed away recently; leukemia. Sniper rifles have a sentimental value in my family for generations; whether it's on a battlefield or hunting in the wilderness. I would like to place one by his tombstone. I was told Majestic was the go-to place and I was in the neighborhood so…" Matt looked at him with a suspicious nature staring back at. He then gave Frederick an ultimatum with his back turned, "Sir, if you think I'm a Henderson puppet, you can end my suffering and let me be with my dad. I'm not here to rob you or attempt to kill you. It's your choice."

Soon after he said his piece, the steps of a practiced gun owner were heard walking towards the back. As soon as the door closed behind him, Matt's hands shook as well as the rest of his body turning around. He nearly threw up at the mere thought of dropping dead at this point in his life. Even with Blue Bulls-Eye under new management he still had a lot to live for, like having a drinking game with a Russian beauty or see the Vatican in Italy. Frederick walked back out and presented him with none other than the M40A3 with an extended scope. "Even if you are one of them, he told him, I ask you don't desecrate your father's grave. I don't know you, and if you come back with this rifle pointed at me, best damn know how to use it."

"You won't regret this decision, sir." Matt assured him.

"Call me Fred. Frederick Mayhew." He replied handing him the rifle before quickly pulling it back. "Now that we've gotten to know one another, let's see some ID."

When it comes to the devil being in the details, you can almost see his blackened eyes staring back at you. Josh saw it, Matt saw it when he had the chance, and Nick going over and over Adamo's report the first two paragraphs were in chicken scratches, but from what little details he made out the entire place was not an historical landmark. Nick recalled the words, "popped up from another world" being said details, like it was a figment of one's sick nightmare materialized into solid reality. Bentley Henderson's profile specialized in instilling nightmares into his younger siblings. However, the only creepy vibe all three got from exploring the lower level was the sullen silence of it all.

It felt at any moment something was going to surprise them, and no urgency to react was going to help them. The ambiance in each room felt the same; empty dens, extended walk-in closets, bedrooms, rinse and repeat. There wasn't a clue in sight as to what took place during the house raid. It wasn't until they started walking up a dusty staircase into the mid-level area where it was divided into two, separate dining halls. "Now we're getting somewhere." Nick acknowledged as they made it to the top.

There was no point in backtracking. If they had to circle each of the eight rooms one more time, one or all three would have gone insane from the maze pattern. No amount of broken paintings or empty pill bottles was going to hold up in any court. The middle level of the house had a resonating dusty look to it. Luckily, the particles didn't have an orange color; James thanked his lucky stars bringing the gas masks.

Suddenly, another creepy vibe set into Cayla's mind. How long were they in the house? What time was it? It couldn't have been any more than a couple hours she thought, and the thumping sound she heard earlier didn't make a second cameo. So far, the horror movie tropes didn't latch themselves onto the rookie detectives yet. They've managed to stay together and avoided any dark spaces. Taking the left dining hall first, it was too musky to tell on the floor, but they might have stumbled onto their first crime scene.

"Guys, over here, Cayla called out to them softly, are these blood tracks?"

Taking that as his cue to break out the ol' profiler kit, James looked at the faded blood trail and said, "Hmm, something is better than nothing."

"From the looks of it, somebody bled to death and tried getting away." Nick said.

"Then, how come there weren't any blood stains on the steps?" Cayla asked. "There was old blood in the foyer and some of the rooms, but here… odd."

"Alright, time to separate." James told them. "I'm going to dissect this part of the dining hall while you two follow the blood trail."

"Dude, she said, remind me again how you're going to do that?"

"If comic conventions taught me one thing, it's how you get the most out of your weekend with little consequence. I'll be fine."

"Okay." Nick replied. "We won't go far. From the looks of it, we'll be within shouting distance. Let us know if you find anything."

"Well, James said before pausing for a second, if you happen to see another python creep up from the shadows make sure none of its friends come after me."

Cayla and Nick got out their flashlights, and continued on the other side of the dining hall to see where the trail led. Their creaking steps only further proved they were in a horror centric place. Both couldn't fathom Mickey living under these conditions. Dead girlfriend or not, it would drive anyone crazy. They found themselves in a jointed kitchen with broken silverware and old pots scattered all over the ground.

They finally felt they were getting somewhere; signs of a struggle. While Nick took to looking inside the wood carved pantries, she stepped over broken shards and came upon the kitchen sink to where blood stains blended with the iron. A crumpled piece of paper embedded in the garbage disposal, making her wish she had brought gloves. Cringing taking the paper out of the sink, "Ew, I'm going to need a tetanus shot after this." She held her flashlight over what seemed to be a short grocery list of tasks left behind. The handwriting was in script; a rare format people don't use in this day and age.

 _-Get inside using the attic window (guess I'm climbing…)_

 _-Bring a flashlight, your notebook and pepper spray (DON'T FORGET YOUR PAPERMATE PEN!)_

 _-Use your size to your advantage_

 _-Avoid using the front entrance (too many hissing noises)_

 _-Document everything you see and hear!_

 _-No matter what, don't brag about this to your friends (the one or two assholes left)_

 _-Block out what that old man told you. There are no such things as apparitions (NOOOO, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT J.M.!)_

She finally found her first clue; the initials "J.M." At first, she thought the dusty element was creeping into her eyes or felt a presence here. Her muscle joints tensed as she softly called out Nick's name, slowly turning away from the sink to the imagery of a dark abyss. There was no Nick, no James, nor any exit hallway to speak of. Her heart began racing once again. Taking deep breaths with the flashlight shaking in her hand, Cayla moved four steps forward when a loud creak with the sound of a black crow sent her three steps back.

Turning again the sink disappeared; she was surrounded by sheer darkness. "Oh, shit…" She spoke in fear. Right then, she wondered what the old man said to J.M. about apparitions. Soul Leaping can possess the souls of other people, but the Henderson family had made their own permutations of the gas for years. The recipe was diluted to the point of not having the slightest inkling what it can do.

Cayla sweated and was scared to the core. She then sidestepped to her left that sounded normal enough. The thick, dusty presence before was still lurking, looking over her shoulder and that if she turned around again, it might be the last thing she might do on this Earth. Her feet carried her leftward to what felt like a horizontal stairway at the time. Then, a cool breeze was heard flowing from an opening.

It was a nice change from the warmth she felt from the kitchen. Making her way to where the breeze held sway, she ended up in a long, rectangular corridor. All the lights cut on with door openings on both sides, stretching as far as the eye can see. For the first time in her life, she believed something Mickey spoke about, the house being a maze of sorts. So many doors and she stood on the dark end of it fearing what she was going to find in each one. She then gripped her flashlight and knife, and moved straight.

A behavior such as this couldn't be explained by logic. Nick had the urgency to investigate the boarding house under some heroic notion he would take down Mickey once and for all. Now being in the dusty and harsh unknown, his stomach unsettled his senses. He kept to being a full rookie detective, digging up any kind of evidence he could find. The pantries were cold leads, save for an old postcard that had the scenery of Vietnam on it. Turning the card around it said, _"Mom, pop, I'll be out of touch for a while. I just want you to know that I'm okay and learning a lot from the service. It feels like I'm doing something that matters. We set out for Saigon at first light, dunno what we're going to find. Pray for me as I'll do the same. Love you both and god bless…_

 _-Lyle_

Nick placed the photo in his duffle bag and kept searching other pantries for more clues. Saigon… the connection between that and Soul Leaping became more obvious. Lyle was exposed to the gas as a soldier, and according to the files he was never the same when he got home. Even from beyond the grave, he taught his son Jed to harness its effects, use it on the worst walks of life. But when did the obsession for it to be a family business Nick wondered? Search engines and old articles kept going in circles about Hendersons doing the city of New York a public service.

Rapists thought twice before adding a victim to their roster, and anyone who didn't learn their lesson ended up dead. The only conclusion he drew from was that Jed grew power hungry. Who wouldn't be someone else for a day? Before searching further, he adjusted his gas mask and slowly maneuvered his flash light from one end of the room to the next. He saw Cayla still checking her end of the dining hall, like there was nothing out of the ordinary. And that scared him a bit.

With the place being silent he didn't even hear any footsteps from James and what he was doing. There were so many suspicions with only three outcomes to carry them: getting out alive, ending up dead, or be trapped in the house for the rest of their days. The last one turned his blood cold as he was reminded of the more modern day horror films; the kind that aren't as scary, but can make your hair stand up in other ways. Nick shook his head and perused in another pantry. One cupboard after another, the clues were few and far between.

He then ventured to the far left end of the hall to see if anything was worth seeing. A soft, distant sigh reached his ears, made him dart his eyes around before another sigh forced him to be on guard. He didn't say a word, but what made him jump was an old book dropped on the floor next to him. Sweat beaded down the back of his neck as he bent down to pick it up. The book felt expensive. Its' cover was made of leather yet the pages felt standard. Right on the very first page, a cryptic yet profound quote was found with no name to place it.

" _The day is gone, but the memories live on…"_

Halfway turning the page a few scenarios played out in his mind, one being a monster jumping out of the book and grabbing him before the scene cuts to black. The next two pages had drawings of an elaborate nature. It didn't have art museum quality, but the images were vivid enough to tell what was going on. The tone and structure looked rushed, like they were drawn by an artist with Alzheimer's. Varying from one picture to the next, whoever owned the book had a side skill that could have been his one-way ticket out of the family business.

Every other photo had a signature of the letter "J", ones that showed a play-by-play how Soul Leaping affected the victim. It was right then Nick struck gold. The pages that weren't signed by "J" had an actual name attached; Terry. These had rough notes and diary entries dating back to 2007. Nick skimmed over the entries until one caught his eye that showed different dates spanning a week and a half, confessions of what Terry was going through. It didn't say much about his involvement in the boarding house raid; last entry was dated July 29th, 2013.

" _What 'happened' to us? There was a time we were an impenetrable unit: Lee, Mo, dad, Mickey… Alanna; I can't even think straight right now. I've been scribbling in this book for so long in the hopes someone in this family would come to their senses. Little Jun has gotten good with her drawings. I've seen 'em and know she is as scared as I am. You can never tell though. People say my brother Mick is the crazy one, but Bentley… how can he be deeply invested in soul leaping when HE is the most damaged?_

 _Hell, he would tell stories. He said dad force fed him gas through canned peaches! Mom has taken little Jun and Aunt Kenzie grows concerned for me everyday. I thought she'd have the answer to U-turn this nightmare back to Splitsville. She wanted to have a normal discussion while Alanna tried for hours talking her out of it. She has taken up sentry duty around the boarding house along with Mo. This place… Aunt K said it was heavy with illusion. You can lose your direction if not careful. My grandfather sought out this house as a foundation on where we are now…"_

 _(July 29_ _th_ _-Midnight)_

" _My head's… body sweats; condition's takin' over… Lee, you bastard! Mick, you and Jun are all I have left, now. Come get me… can't… fight…"_

That familiar sigh caught his attention once more. Nick quickly threw the book in his bag before moving towards the other end of the hall to catch up with Cayla. The whole time she had not once gone over to him to see what clues he found. Looking to where she was searching earlier, the kitchen area was empty, even the blood trail completely disappeared. His own blood shivered at the thought something might have happened to her.

He called out, "Cayla… where are you? What the fuck is going on…?" All of a sudden the sigh turned to wheezing, and a thumping sound was heard where the pantries were. Someone was definitely watching them now. He got his stun gun ready and aimed it towards the pantries. Gritting his teeth and planting every step firmly on the ground, no amount of horror films prepared him when the dining table flipped on its head, blocking off one of the passages. What stood before him was a pair of orange eyes and a glass shattering cry that spread throughout the house and beyond.

It even called out across New York's borders, fading through each borough and caught Matt's attention for a minute. He couldn't tell what it was, but had a pretty good idea where it was coming from. His inner voice told him to break off from Corkscrew's motorcade and beeline it to the boarding house. Something felt off to him however. He had seen motorcades back in Jersey whenever a funeral was happening. Then again, he had also seen motorcades used for military purposes.

Corkscrew's gassed up entourage was on the latter. Passing from the Verrazano to being 20 minutes away from Central Park, New Yorkers drove along sidewalks and created problems for bystanders as the motorcade passed. Matt's car had a beat up nature to it, provided no cause for caution which helped him blend in with the chaos better. Before long he reached the Bronx with old cars hogging every parking space, and large groups of people power walking away from Bleecker Street, under a train passing by. His inner voice then materialized into many when scared people told him to turn around, hitting his car as he drove through.

Eventually he found a spot he could tight squeeze in. Parallel parking without a new scratch would be an achievement he thought. When he got out, he ran into one of the bystanders and asked, "Excuse me! What's going on here?"

"Major shit's goin' down under the train, he told Matt, not sticking around!"

"You outta your goddamn mind?!" A running bystander shouted. "Move the _fuck_ on! The Hellspawns don't play!"

Matt took his legally owned M40 in a bag as he pursued Corkscrew's camp through the running crowd. Within the chaos, he noticed Wellington made cars. They were curved, dark blue with white checkered shapes all over. If he didn't know better, he was venturing into gang territory, but was it the D40 Hellspawns or another opposing faction of the Hendersons? Any number of things was going to happen.

He didn't have the façade of a hardened New Yorker, but of a privileged Ivy Leaguer. That was both an advantage and disadvantage if a gang member spotted him sneaking about. He gripped the rifle bag tight and continued running towards Bleecker Street. He was in the thick of it now.

12


	9. Chapter 9: Take off your mask

When it came to perfecting a skill down to a science, James was a slow learner in the Comic-Con community. Since winning a radio contest to attend every convention for life, he was introduced to a world he merely dreamt of seeing. Justice League and Voltron were only the tip of the iceberg for him. His rational mentality kicked in when he saw the glass case displays of the Bat suits in an L.A. convention. On five different occasions, "pristine" and "well-protected" were huge understatements when he attended the L.A. convention over the course of three years.

Every challenge has its' reward, but in the attaining of such reward has consequence. In spite of pythons, imagery shifts as he paced around the other dining hall, and a much needed adrenaline he still retained from outside, he welcomed a challenge with a real sense of urgency. There was something about the boarding house that altered things every time he turned around. When following the blood trail earlier, it seemed like it went on throughout the second level, transitioning from old blood embedded into the foundation to fresh. However, the change in scenery was more subtle than he'd liked.

Dissecting the room for James was unlike any mobile strategy he planned at past cons. The place was too mute, but riveting for a dining hall. In his mind, he was just used to the noise of man children and interviewers constantly shoving him aside. As soon as he gotten a feel for the scenery, he closed his eyes to remember all the little details he saw pacing about. Details like drywall tears in the shape of bear claws, the ten empty shell casings scattered on the floor, the air of a brawl breaking out; James made mental pictures as to what happened in the dining hall during the house raid.

At first, it was bordering on the line of Sci-fi thriller. You would think with the number of zombie shows and video games would prepare one to tackle all this. The clues were there, just a matter of getting to the point and regroup with the others on what they found. Murmuring the clues and mentally piecing them together with no absolute way he'd be right, he opened his eyes to something truly frightening. The hall changed once more, but it was clean as if no sign of a fight touched it.

And more so, he saw moving images of people sitting at the dining table in gas form. His heart dropped to his stomach, frantically feeling his face to find out he was still wearing his gas mask. The three human gas clouds before him were a kid and two older folks. The older folks had a way about them in terms of how they stood over their seats, like they were on the verge of throwing a fit while the kid sat with his hands tied in front of him. James had a clear enough vision of how they looked, especially for the older gentleman.

If the mugshots were accurate, he was staring at Corkscrew himself. The other two, a male kid and a female, he remembered a news story from Seaside Heights stating two run-down people delivering gas canisters prior to the police getting mauled by college kids.

 _"_ _The table has been set. Aunt Kenzie can't help us now."_ Corkscrew told them before tossing his chair behind him.

 _"_ _We have the numbers, Mo."_ Alanna stressed. _"I've been reaching out to some old friends in Manhattan, same town Mickey was last seen before dropping off the map."_

 _"_ _Sis, no offense, but you and the word "friends" have been divorced since coming home from active duty. And I'd know. I took a hit for this family which hurt me even more."_

 _"_ _You don't have to tell us! You 'saved' Bentley's ass from that Hellspawn controlled factory. You knew how much dad wanted that place gone. I gotta admit. New York… or the Lower East Side came undone after that."_

 _"_ _And now every D40 from Harlem to Staten Island will want our heads."_ He sighed heavily. _"Fortunately, I got an idea."_

 _"_ _How 'bout we stop?"_ Terry spoke up finally.

It took a minute for both to realize Terry was still a kid at heart, growing up in a business tearing him from the inside. Alanna looked at him with tired, yet sympathetic eyes and reached out, _"We can still salvage the Henderson name, T. Doctor Eckstein-_

 _"_ _Eckstein doesn't know what's wrong with me! He can't comprehend what's wrong with me. It seems like the only two that do are Mick and Juniper. Wha-what the hell are we doing here?"_

 _"_ _Not running away is what we're doin'."_ Corkscrew pointed out. _"I still believe granddad's old boarding house is the safest. It has a lot of open rooms we can use when they attack. Lana, you said dad has over three hundred soul leapers while Mickey was with us, right? Darrien has 100 Hellspawns plus affiliates. Obviously, not a lot but just let me get in touch with him. I've met his Lieutenants inside. They can help us."_

 _"_ _I can't anymore. You two do what you have to do. I'm done…"_ Terry said getting up.

Each gas cloud dissipated in front of James. After a minute of seeing the hall in mint condition, he curiously touched one of the table's placemats and immediately reverted back to its' crusty look, following the entire dining hall. "Ho-ly shit…" James spoke with amazement. The foundation corrected itself before his very eyes. Then, the table had something orange highlighted on it. The rational solution would be not to touch it and keep moving he thought; his locked-in adrenaline suggested otherwise.

As he walked towards it, the image rose in the shape of a weird plant resting in an oval pot. The soil was rich and what grew looked to be small eggplants. James reached out and suddenly the hall changed into another room entirely. He was back outside in a greenhouse from the looks of it; strange though. He didn't notice any kind of greenhouse when they ran for the front door.

All of a sudden, the blood trail he had been following carried a foul stench. He had a clumsy childhood and recognized the smell whenever he got poison ivy. Looking down the trail wasn't there, but a twinge of pain hit his left heel, making him feel uneasy. He paid it no mind for the time being as he observed the greenhouse. It had to have been another illusion he felt.

This one felt too real; the sound he made on the stony steps walking, the sweet smell of plants, the very moisture hugging his skin, it brought him to an area where vines among vines decorated the greenhouse. His nose caught a whiff of a berry-like smell, following gas images of Terry again along with a frail woman placing soil in her plot.

 _"_ _What are you growin' there?"_ Terry asked walking over to her.

 _"_ _Ah, evening Terry. You should be sleeping off the medicine I gave you."_

 _"_ _It… kinda wore off an hour after you gave it to me."_

 _"_ _Your father had that same problem, you know?"_ She replied before seeing concern on his face. _"I know you don't believe me, but he can still come back to the man he once was. I've seen it, your mother has seen it, little Jun…"_

 _"_ _You don't seem sure."_

 _"_ _Not sure if a "genetic intervention" will stay bloodshed from this home, yes. That is why I have been growing these."_ She said, showing him the plants. _"It's a foreign fruit called "Kikipsi". Its' juices lock in rare diseases and battles them from the inside."_

 _"_ _Will this help with my condition?"_

 _"_ _With hot water and some spices, I can try. Give me an hour. I'll have a soup ready for you."_ She replied as Terry nodded and walked away. _"And sweetheart… if somehow Bentley gets to you again…"_

A loud boom came from the upper level of the boarding house. The gas images faded into the infinite as he grabbed his duffel bag and made his way to the other side of the hall. Mid-way there, that slight twinge in his heel gave way to erupting immense pain, causing him to collapse on the floor. The impact of his chest hitting the floor made his ears ring, and the adrenaline he had vanished in the blink of an eye. Right then, the fatigue and fear of what lurked inside the house caught up with him.

Gripping his bag tightly, he cussed profusely under his breath finding a safe spot to dress his wound. The stench was just as he feared; one of the pythons bit him he thought. He sorted and tossed items out of his bag looking for his first-aid kit; sounds of angry footsteps coveted the upper level, drawing closer to where he was. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, _c'mon_ …" he stressed until the kit fell into his hand. Inside had a variety of bandages, some sutures and a bottle of alcohol the size of a Red Bull can.

He tried drowning out the background noise as the sound of cringing pain took over. Diluted blood slowly puddled the ground as he gritted his teeth keeping it together. What came next was the easy part. He used up every piece of bandage he had to cover up the smell of the wound, leaving him feverish and up against a wall. The throbbing coming through the bandage was a twisted godsend as he collected his thoughts. It reminded him he was still breathing, if not exactly ready to move. And without thinking, he removed his mask as drops of sweat rained from his face onto the floor.

"That feels better." He said smacking his lips. "Okay, James, take a minute… then link up with the others. You can do this." Two minutes later, he placed all his weight on his right foot and tried lifting himself. A sudden lightheadedness knocked him on his back, keeping him grounded with nowhere to go. "Good job, James, as if your back doesn't… have… oh my god. I don't wanna die here…"

When it came to cheating death, it was surprisingly easy for Nick as he was limber enough to hide in small spaces. Seeing the thing that sported the orange eyes nearly made him soil himself. It had the trappings of a zombie and a gargoyle. Its' scream could be heard all throughout the house, or whatever he was hiding in he thought. What looked to be a dark end of a dining hall turned into a game of cat and mouse; one teenager against a deep wheezing monster.

The path he ran kept shifting the imagery in front of him. Whether he was jumping over stuff in a basement or rolling under an old bed into a closet, where he would end up was anyone's unlucky guess. By the time Nick could no longer hear the howling screams of the "Soul Leaper" he found himself locked in a bathroom. It was common compared to the rest of the house, if a bit on the ancient side. He didn't even want to take off his gas mask to get a clear view of what he saw. Barricading the door with nothing but an old stool and low lighting, his breathing was kept locked tight with his stun gun and flashlight trained on the door.

Then, just when he had a few minutes to himself, footsteps gradually made their way towards the bathroom door. Nick held out his gun fully charged with his arms tensed, and what came from the other side was a wheezing, spine chilling cry, "Mmmiiiiicccckkkeeeyyyy… where aaaarrrrreeeee yoooooouuu…?" This, followed by a bang on the door with nails sliding down the foundation. One hit after another, Nick was numb all over with his arms locked. As soon as the monster revealed himself in true form, its' scream harmonized with Nick's as both slammed towards each other and down another staircase.

The hard way down was narrow and the monster attempted to break the mask's lenses with its teeth. When both landed on solid ground, dust and soot took over Nick's body. Sore and dehydrated, he slowly got on his knees when his eyes showed him what was directly in front of him; an old lab with sky blue colored candles lighting up the place. Feeling wobbly in his knees, Nick managed to stand up and quickly looked behind him to see the monster vanished.

The aftershock came like a swift punch to the gut, making him vomit all over the dusty floor. "What'd I get us into?" He spoke with regret after spitting to the right. He got back up with his flashlight going in and out. The light burned out as soon as he picked it up; the candles were all that was left. This day was turning into a hit and run mess.

Nick can only imagine how the others were faring in their rookie investigations. From the look of the lab, it was ransacked in a big damn hurry. The only thing left standing was a map hanging on a sharp, metal tip of a table. What lied around it were a bunch of papers that led to more questions than answers. Nick felt he was onto something with the book he found in the dining hall, but he didn't rely on backtracking being the safe bet. Gathering what he could and stuffing them in his pockets, gravity dropped on his shoulders, forcibly taking a moment to process what was happening.

"You've really fucked up this time, dude. Just had to work in the same store a Henderson was in. Why didn't you take up on your brother's offer about that criminal justice venture? You could've made somethin' of yourself instead of being chased in a haunted house without a clue. Cayla, James, this place… it's constantly changing. I don't know where I'll end up next, but if I don't…" He went on before smacking the left side of his twice. "Stop, you're getting out of here! That thing called out Mickey's name. If he's here, I'll have to act harder than I ever did."

Thumping footsteps were heard once again in the background. He listened closely to the monster crying for help. The chills driving down his back only forced him to snap out of it and said, "No time. I gotta link up with the others and get out of here. Move, Nick."

The Henderson Boarding House got weirder and more confusing by the minute as all three struggled to make sense of it all. Each time they've reached a clue, their view of the world changed, and whether they changed with it was a matter of not knowing. Moving from the blackened dining hall to what seemed like a never ending hallway, Cayla kept both her knife and flashlight at the ready. Nervous and alert, she kept her feet close to the floor as she went along. Each opening contained an aftermath of some kind; buried rubble and one room with a small pile of bones. Walking inside, she was surrounded by scorch marks the size of black holes on the walls whereas the bones were clean and placed with care.

"Another note," she noticed a piece of paper tucked between the bones. She took one last look at her surroundings where illusions were taking a backseat, for now. The inscription was in plain text this time, _"I wish I'd brought my camcorder and be one of those cheesy vloggers that documents everything. It'd be so much easier, but I always saw myself in the power of words instead of manipulation of the media. Being a black sheep isn't all that's cracked up to be. It's a death sentence for those I couldn't save. I saw two good guys submit to this gas these Hendersons have been raving about._

 _40 years and they're still going strong. They're strong for a reason and somehow whatever's in Saigon is the key. One of 'em almost saw me. I took flight in the dining hall and hid in one of the pantries (price of being short!). Jesus… I've made bad decisions and not one includes alcohol. My parents must be skyrocketing with worry right now. I hoped by coming here I would expose these sick fucks for what they really are, but it's a losing battle. I know that now. Maybe I should call Rachel, tell her I won't make the deadline this time. So tired… so many voices saying I'm trapped. Just goes to show you the naked eye is like cancer. Forgive me Ty, Vince… I just wanted to make a difference."_

"… Damn, I wonder how long you held out." She spoke with regret, putting the note in her pocket.

 _"_ _I'd forgotten at this point."_ A calm voice called out from the scorched walls. Cayla stood up and darted her eyes all around the room before hearing, _"Drifting about in this place, time loses its' meaning."_

There was no unseeing it. A wisp of orange gas slipped through the cracks of burning foundation, and assimilated in the form of a human. He couldn't have been any more than 16 or 17, around her age. However, his facial features were null and the outcome of what Soul Leaping was capable of, she took ten paces back on the opposite side. The human gas cloud reached out and said, _"Careful! Don't step on my bones. You might anger him."_

"This can't be happening." Her face turned color, flushing all the color away.

 _"_ _I'm not going to hurt you. You can take off that mask if you want. Stay awhile."_

"No, no I'll keep this on. Who are you?"

 _"_ _The million dollar question all teenagers ask themselves, right? Did you know I wanted to be a fighter pilot for the Army? I never could handle heights, especially after eating egg salad…"_

"Ok…? You seem pretty… chill for an orange ghost thing." She replied, taking out the two notes she found. "Guess I'm playing along. Did you write these letters? I found one in a kitchen sink covered in blood."

 _"_ _That's my checklist. I took a lot of trips to Staten Island and listened to all the spook stories people said about the Hendersons. I thought they were myths at one point, until I met Terry."_

"Terry Henderson? He used to hang out at Seaside Heights in-between gas deliveries with his older sister. Do you know his role in all this? "

 _"_ _What is the endgame is what you should be asking. That's why I came here to investigate. That and finding out what happened to two friends of mine."_ He replied, noticing Cayla tensed up still. _"You seem nice. I don't blame you for not understanding all this. I assume you didn't come alone?"_

"Here's what's going to happen. Haunted houses I can buy being real, but human gas clouds… yeah. I came here with two other people. We got separated in this house and I'd very much like to leave before Mickey, Corkscrew or any of 'em get back. You wanna keep talking, help me find them."

 _"_ _That sounds fair. You 'really' should sit down, at least. My name's Jackson, Jackson Mayhew."_

Time was of the essence to do whatever had to be done during a disturbance on Bleecker Street. Matt stuck out like a privileged goat in a sea of orange eyes as he moved closer to what was happening. No one attacked him however; even as his rifle nudged the shoulders of every bystander he squeezed by, no one felt the urge to possess his body or tear it apart. What was even more distinct was a pattern he picked up from them: berries. It had a bittersweet aroma, the kind only drugstore brand medicine would provide, but the aroma continued down a jagged line towards the blockade under the train.

Matt wanted to put his "tae kwon do" skills to work when he grabbed one of the soul leapers, and dragged him towards a convenience store in the area. Squirming and fighting to break his grip, the leaper spoke in a grim tone, "The fuck you doin', I'll rip yur fuckin' larynx and make you wear it…" He was in a chokehold which only forced the leaper to "break free" in a manner of speaking when his soul left his body. A stunned Matt witnessed another form of what the gas can do; a soul or an orange ghost-like entity got into a lunging stance and charged at him. Matt leaped over a store counter and ran to the right where the soul encountered him. Without blinking it gripped an empty snack display, and tossed it like a tennis ball to show its strength.

From there, both played the evasion game where one tries to escape while the other cuts him off. Quick planning skills weren't Matt's strong suit; that was when he remembered the leaper smelling of bittersweet berries on his hoodie. "Move ya pussy, move!" He told himself sprinting towards the jacket with the leaper following behind. Grabbing the body and no time to take it off, he used it as a meat shield as they went back outside into the possessed crowd. Fortunately for Matt, when he'd gotten about fifteen steps away from the store, the leaper somehow mixed bodies with someone other than his own, causing something like a grenade going off.

The loud impact caused a dozen leapers to be drenched in orange goo. Looking up while he was on the ground, he was in disbelief how none of them reacted to such an event. Were they all hypnotized or deaf he wondered? After a few seconds, he stood up wearing the hoodie to bear witness a brawl taking place under the train. Two on two went at each other like an imaginary steak was in front of them, and would kill to be the last man standing.

They weren't hard to point out which one belonged to which faction; two Soul Leapers versus two members of the D40 Hellspawns. As they fought, Matt kept moving to different spots to see if Corkscrew was watching the fight. Five minutes passed, all four men reduced to beat up animals for the entertainment of the crowd. One of the Leapers diverted his attention back to his partner and suddenly attacked each other.

"I ain't taking the fall for this…" One leaper said trapped in a chokehold.

"Neither am I." His partner replied. "I know where Corkscrew's hiding. I can see him in the Hellspawn camp."

"Then what're we waitin' for?"

Matt's eyes couldn't keep comprehend what he saw next. The two leapers broke off and lunged towards the Hellspawn side. One blink had the entire crowd in a state of shock when a scruffy looking man stepped in and pinned them both to the ground. The sheer skill this one possessed consisted of close quarters combat. It clicked in his head as to who it was; Corkscrew.

Fighting two different wars both overseas and back home, the quick precision of his technique sent one leaper flying back to his brethren while the other pulled out a knife and charged from his left. Corkscrew grabbed his arm, looked the leaper dead in the eye, "We don't raise hands on leapers. Look behind you, you're breaking their hearts." He then finished what the leaper started by self-inflicting the knife into the right side of his chest, sending him on his back with fear in his orange eyes. Both factions were then brought to a cold halt when two warning shots went off in the air. Harlem's gang leader, Darrien stepped in sporting his colors with a Colt Python held up high.

"Alright, that's enough!" Darrien shouted, lowering his gun. "Yo, C.S. still got a knife stuck your chest; you good?"

Turning around with blood streaming down his shirt, he gave a slight smile through his beard, "I think we found our traitors. We can make this right between us once and for all."

"Not how it works; I suspected two of your "people" trying to convert two of mine to that fuckin' gas of yours. It's a good thing this was done without our knowledge."

"Tyler and Vince were good kids. I know where Bentley is at." He took one step as rifles were trained on him. "Look man, I set all this up as a show of civility, that the Hellspawns are still top quality in Harlem. Are we straight?"

Darrien holstered his python walking towards him. Without the slightest intent of being gentle, he pulled the knife out of Mo's chest and uttered, "I'm still not joining y'all on your suicide mission. You deal with your own and I'll do the same… and you _never_ set foot on my territory again. I don't give two shits who you are."

A slight orange tinge appeared in Corkscrew's eyes. His baser instinct wanted to follow the crowd of showing who was top dog, not some thug who spits on the name "Henderson." As Darrien ordered a couple of his soldiers to pick the other two beaten members off the ground, they slowly made themselves scarce from the blocked off neighborhood. Matt took a good twenty-five steps blending in with the other leapers before he broke away and hid behind a dumpster. It took everything he had to not break Darrien's neck or simply soul leap onto his own and commit the suicide act for him. All that was left was two traitors and a couple stragglers that stuck around for the end results.

Matt kept his distance observing what kind of Henderson member he was dealing with. Mickey was the unstable one, but if the police files showed any accuracy, Alanna and Mo were the most reasonable of the six siblings. Either way, he wanted to make sure he would never reach the boarding house with the others still inside.

Corkscrew sighed as he held the bloodied knife in his hand, took a knee and said, "Ethan, Xavier, I chose you two because out of the fifty of my gas converts, you showed the most promise. I wanted to give you the chance to explain your actions. We've been through a lot this year alone, right? So why go behind my back to put two Harlem teenagers in jeopardy?"

"It was me." Xavier admitted without remorse. "I tried to keep your Aunt out of the way so I can lure Ty and Vince onto our side. When they fought back, I lost it."

"That's funny." Corkscrew said standing up. "They were already in league with my Aunt Kenzie. Like me, they wanted to stop my father's obsession with the gas. It tore my family apart and sent one away."

"Fuck your family." Xavier spat blood from his mouth. "I only joined because I believed in _you_ once. You carried the weight of defending your country, same with my uncle. I looked up to the only two men in my life that actually gave me purpose, and then you let Bentley get in your head again. What's the curse of being your own man? That's why you enlisted in the first place, isn't it?"

"I'm with him." Ethan replied. "I converted when my ex-girlfriend died at the boarding house raid two years ago. We figured with Harlem backing us, we'd have a force big enough to stand against him. I thought you were different."

"You can take our souls, but you can't hide four decades of hell you put on this city. We fought, we lost, and now we rest…"

He couldn't say he didn't see this coming, Corkscrew thought. The past two years plus three tours overseas, the chaos he studied and endured became a blur to him. It taught him to look his comrades as well as his enemies like a barrel of a gun, and make the decision to pull the trigger. The breaking of the Hendersons forced some to make their own alliances although it hadn't been easy for either him or Alanna. For most people, they can remember distinct faces but never comprehend the names to them.

He took to the opposite: Ethan, Xavier, Nadine, Raj, he maintains a list in his head that separates who's still loyal and who was ready to rest in a manner of speaking. Two traitors sat before him, bruised and bloodied with the orange tinge fading from their eyes. It weighed a hefty burden on his shoulders because with his version of Soul Leaping, he developed a way to "extract" the human soul from one's body and crush it with his bare hand. However, it required an intense concentration that could break the most battle hardened vets. It was a long time before he had to do it for a while, but his converts knew what his ability was capable of.

When he held out his hand in front of them, the snapping of their spines sent Matt aback as he watched it unfold. An orange aura slowly left their chests when a screeching sound entered the fray, rendering Ethan and Xavier shaking and dropping dead on their backs soon after. Matt on the other hand saw a few shadows coming from where he was hiding. With his ears bleeding, he clung onto the hope the hoodie would be enough to hide him from whoever was coming. The other Soul Leapers cried in pain, but some stayed vigilant with their feet planted firmly on the ground.

This barely affected Corkscrew as his threshold to the screeching noise was all-too familiar to him. Past punishments are like armor plating for the present hardship. A dark, brooding man towered over his second born son. The grit, gray hair and authoritative voice ushered a common response from Corkscrew himself, "Hello, father… still making your usual entrance, I see? Something's happened at the boarding house; that's the only way for you to come out of the shadows to see me. It must be serious." He said seeing a shriveled Ethan and Xavier, causing him to choke up. "WE'RE HEADING HOME! LET'S MOVE OUT!"

The illusions grew stronger as James limped along the boarding house. He became feverish, making his surroundings feel like a sauna. Shapes were shifting, and he fought with his mind to stay in the now. "Gotta be an exit somewhere," He thought. Making his way to the third and final level of the house, the staircase leading to it broke up before his eyes, forging three new paths. Not even a horror film enthusiast can decipher which way was the right way, let alone the smart way.

He took it on faith once again to venture through the stairway on his right-hand side. Passing through, he found himself nearly collapsing in a distorted corridor where the atmosphere felt grimy. James tried not to think about it too much, moving onwards through the elaborate maze that was the boarding house. All of a sudden, his path caught a glimpse of a person running through a different corridor. His eyes widened as he proceeded to follow him.

Something was crumpled on the ground; it looked to be a chicken scratched note that listed a certain recipe. When James picked it up, his sight was still woozy. He didn't want to leave any shred of evidence behind so he put it in his pocket. As he limped through the maze, the glimpses of the mysterious person became more obvious as James picked up a certain pattern he was using. It eventually brought him to a single hallway, sweating bullets and a hankering for Twizzlers. The average build and tone of voice gave way to the guy banging on what looked to be an attic door.

"James… Cayla… are you two in there?!" Nick asked, banging desperately on the door. "Goddamn it…"

"Nick…?" James faintly called out. "Yo, Nick!"

"No stun gun, just a hard head and a one-way trip." He told himself, controlling his breathing. "If that thing's in there… oh fuck my life."

The more James called out, the more the scene diverted in a direction he didn't know what to expect. He had no other choice. As Nick broke through the attic door, James used what little energy he had to bum-rush though the dusty aftermath until the collapse captured Nick's attention. He laughed with relief running over to help him.

"James, holy shit you're alive!"

"Ah, aha, it's good to see you too. Getting around this maze was a cinch." James replied sarcastically.

"You need to work on your comic timing dude." Nick said when he saw the leg. "J…"

"One of the pythons got me." He cringed in pain from his heel. "It smells bad too. I dressed it as best I could."

"You're bleeding through the bandage."

"I'll be fine." He assured him, taking out the piece of paper he found. "You dropped this in the maze."

"Yeah, I lost my stun gun and duffel bag in the dining hall." He replied taking out the notes he gathered. "I found all this in a lab somewhere below the house. It was lit up with blue candles."

"Anything else unusual, he asked as he noticed something was off, Nick what did you see?"

"… I'm not gonna joke about this. Matt told me the night S.K. got possessed he stunned him 'till he couldn't move. I can't imagine how things would've turned out if he didn't act in time. I ran into some mutated creature. It called out Mickey's name, might've been one of his brothers."

"Think it might've been Corkscrew or Bentley?" James asked.

"All I know is that we have to get the fuck outta here before that creature gets us. Did you see Cayla?"

"I thought she was with you."

"We got separated somehow. Shit!" He shouts, hitting the wall with his elbow. "Okay, lookin' at the positives, she's good at solving puzzles. She can also jump very high and outscore me on shrimp eating competitions."

"What kind of puzzles?"

"Does Tetris count?" He asked.

You can always count on the skeptics to say they don't believe in ghosts or apparitions. If society as a whole didn't do a complete U-turn into head scratching territory, well, they would still get shot down on social media by "facts" and Wikipedia sources. Nothing ever compares to seeing the nature of the thing in real time, up close, or from a safe distance in a downtrodden room as Cayla did. Her skepticism relied heavily on not becoming infected by the gas. Jackson or "Phantom Jax" as Cayla referred to him in her head took her conditions pretty well.

Even for a human gas cloud, he retained an optimism about him that was rare in a house such as the one they were in. He was no friendly ghost, but someone who accepted what he had become towards the end.

 _"_ _I know you find this hard to believe…"_

"My family taught me to accept what's right in front of me… and twist a mugger's nipples before running like hell from a movie theater." She said, feeling an awkward silence in the room. "It's a long story."

 _"_ _You know, nothing is going to hurt you in here. Not even Terry, I'm his greatest failure."_

"How's that so?"

 _"_ _Sure you don't want to sit down now?"_ He asked as Cayla nodded her head "no". _"I came to this house to reveal the Hendersons for who they are. They can scare the bejeezus out of the police, but not me. I'm sure you've heard the stories of what happened to Tyler and Vince?"_

"I know their big brother, Connor." She replied. "He's a Corporate Security Guard at Blue Bulls-Eye. It's a retail store. I try my best to avoid him, though. He has this… he takes things too personal from what I gather."

 _"_ _I don't know what happened to their bodies. They were in league with a Kenzie Henderson and some doctor. I came here to see what their take is on all this."_

"Did you know them well?"

 _"_ _Went to school with them, didn't think much of me but… I lost a few friends from Soul Leaping. I didn't want it to happen with anyone else."_

"I almost lost a friend to the gas, too. Mickey Henderson, one of the siblings, he used to work for the store I was and at first he didn't seem like a strange guy. I'm not a judgmental person. Then, I heard what happened to his girlfriend."

 _"_ _Helena. Some folks in Manhattan say her "disappearance" was an internal family affair; poor girl. I've always found Latina women lovely."_

Taking a deep breath she asked him, "Back when you were alive, did you find anything that could possibly destroy the gas; an antigen, reverse engineering the stuff, or anything?"

 _"_ _Korpsi... or is it Kitzy, Kapop… it's on the tip of my tongue."_ He said before finally figuring it out. _"Kikipsi, that's the word! I came across Kenzie's notes in a greenhouse just on the upper west end of this place. It's some kind of foreign berry that could lock in gas molecules and attack them from inside the body."_

"Seriously, these berries are all I need for a cure?" She asked excitedly. "How do I get to the greenhouse?"

Something was morphing in Jackson. Cayla was the only one of the two who noticed it as he was becoming less of a human gas cloud, to having a face. Wiping the lenses clean with her hands, she had a decent picture of who he was before. She saw it all the time in High School. There were jocks, supermodel wannabes, held back bullies, and there were the quiet kids. Jackson's face had a shy nature to it, like he would only speak to someone when spoken to.

When she took a few steps forward, the morphing process on his facial features were completed absent his eyes. The vivid look didn't seem entirely lost on him. She then reached out, "What happened to your eyes there?"

 _"_ _Terry wasn't human anymore when he found me. He scratched out my eyes first so I wouldn't see the other things he did to me. I can still feel his presence here; two years and counting. What this family did to him..."_

"My god, I'm so sorry this happened to you." She replied sincerely.

 _"_ _Thank you. What's your name?"_

It doesn't matter if you're a civilian walking down the street, or a soldier about to storm a building. The sound of an explosion going off has a shock value no one would be prepared for. What happened next was instantaneous. Cayla's life flashed before her very eyes in that thirty seconds between the blast going off and what felt like deafness following after. Her surroundings blurred, Jackson was nowhere to be seen.

The stale coldness of the air hit her face, indicating her gas mask flew off in the background. The earth beneath her trembled to the rhythm of people moving inside the "new" entrance to the house; hands grabbed her arms as she was being dragged outside. It didn't take the ringing in her ears to see what stood single file across the house's front yard; orange eyes everywhere. That was when Cayla's heart beat at an alarming rate as the first incident with the gas played multiple times. She had some notion of the risks coming to the boarding house in the first place.

All she wanted was to clear S.K.'s name, and keep Nick from doing anything life threatening. The latter was squashed immediately when a new scenario erupted into hundreds of orange eyes, spanning from the house entrance and around the abandoned zone. It didn't take a Bachelor's Degree to determine the odds of escaping without getting caught. Her body shook as she was dropped to her knees along with three others doing the same. Her fear took a sudden jump when she saw Nick, James, and even Matt for some reason.

Dry blood fastened to both of his ears and the sheer fatigue for everyone involved made her shiver even more. Little by little, the sound gave way to a voice opening up to the four hostages. Corkscrew became the face on the Soul Leaping stage as he confronted them on what was going on.

"Seems today hasn't been a good day for anyone. I wish I can fathom the reason why four strangers, young kids who'd be stupid enough to snoop around here, stand before us today." He said as one of the Leapers stepped forward. "This is Leonardo, one of my gas converts. He has the ability to crash course one's mind to see what others have been thinking. This is the second time our house has been broken in. One managed to escape while the other was consumed by the summation of Soul Leaping. But today isn't for me to decide what comes next. Let's meet the man who will…"

All four looked up as the first two rows of Soul Leapers spread out, making a path for an older, yet spry looking person with a contemptuous look on his face. Matt was the first to recognize who it was from his studies of the police files. Jedidiah Henderson had finally arrived, and surprisingly in a not-so obvious introduction his look of contempt changed to a relaxing jaw and the raising of his left eyebrow. He eyed down each one before saying in a gravel tone, "Thought they would be older. Three of the four trespassers look to be High Schoolers… except this one here." He stood before Matt with a curious mind as to who he was. "Your face is familiar. You've been following my son around until Bleecker Street. Why?"

Matt kept his knees somewhat firm on the hollow dirt, sweating and struggling to stay awake before replying, "I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd… detour a bit."

"Quinn's soul collided with another leaper." Corkscrew brought up. "Neither survived, but this one has the foot speed I've never seen before."

"… How many of your people have you lost?" Jed asked him.

"It's a small number, sir." He retorted.

Jed then turned his attention to him, trying to wrap his head around such a response. "Small number; you can remember the names of all your men but can't envision a casualty number?"

"Some of 'em opted out. Not even mom was able to convince them to stay. I just kept them alive."

"Your brother Bentley once thought as you did. He's probably gassed in a gutter somewhere." Jed told him before getting quiet. "I'm startin' to lose faith in you, boy. I've already lost two children with another in the wind."

"Mickey is still alive. There aren't many places in New York or Jersey for him to hide. Unlike Lee, I have what he needs. Come on father, he placed his hand on his shoulder, let's get this over with."

Even in the face of ripe disappointment, Jed saw opportunity with Matt and the others. He offers a slight grin to Corkscrew before turning around and acknowledged, "You're absolutely right. As a matter of fact, this is cause for celebration, not conflict. First order of business, which one of you is the orchestrator of this second break-in?"

" _That_ one, Leonardo pointed to Nick, he's the one responsible."

"That right, Jed asked walking towards Nick covered in soot and shivering before him, your name is Nick Novoa, yes; name's Jed. And I don't appreciate you traipsing on sacred ground. I seem to remember one other kid around your age. He had grit in his heart, too."

"Jackson!" Cayla shouted. "His name was Jackson Mayhew. Your son Terry ate him. I saw the bones."

"Terry died at the house raid. He never ate people. We're not cannibals." Corkscrew spoke in denial.

"Take me back inside… I'll show you." She replied.

"You'll do no such thing!" Jed ordered. "Now I tried to be humble, but let's get to why we're here. Today was career day. My family and I invested a great sum to show people like you who we are, and what my lineage has wrought. My father Lyle wasn't the same kind, hardworking man when he came home from Nam. He built upon what he saw over there and instilled a heavy responsibility within me. This life takes its toll sometimes. The Henderson name suffered grave hardship for it. Four decades and counting… Saigon is within our grasp!" Jed announced to the roaring group. 

"What the hell's in Saigon?" James asked, silencing everyone else.

"… Saigon is where three of you will be going." Jed replied as he kneeled in the middle between them. "500 Soul Leapers, my life's work in plain sight. Like it or not, _this_ is your way of life now."

All things considered, in the informal predicament of things, Jed was teetering between being in a good mood and having to do what was necessary. Corkscrew became a constant reminder to him that this was the second time the boarding house was breached. No good could come from a third otherwise their competition would see it as a chink in the gas armor. The evening sun crept over the leapers. The others couldn't feel their legs as well as their hearts beating a snail's pace, Nick included.

In the unbearable minutes he spent looking at Mickey's cursed background, somewhere he knew he messed up beyond repair. He had no Plan B or any special skills to fight through the horde. Matt on the other hand darted his eyes for any small windows of escape, any split second opportunities that would grant them one last stand. It felt like he was living in a nightmare made real. He still couldn't fathom how he took on one leaper and lived soon after.

If he had stayed in the dumpster ten minutes longer he thought the tide would have stemmed in their favor. As for Cayla and James, words were jumbled noise in their heads and the only thing keeping them sane was the fact their loved ones were waiting for them above. Jed then took the time to go over some of the rules of being a gas convert.

"There is a simple code of brothers you will abide by. My Soul Leapers and I, we're responsible for each other."

"ONE STRAIN, ONE BOND," Corkscrew and the converts shouted in unison.

"What lies on the other side of the world is our meal ticket to true peace. Speaking of meals, say for example if you are sitting with your loved ones having dinner, you fix us a plate. We _own_ the very food you eat. Like my son said, we're not cannibals. My men aren't picky when it comes to taste. But if you show resistance, suffer no delusion, the fate of your loved ones will suffer. Do you understand where I'm coming from yet?" He asked them. "A demonstration for what happens if you betray me, perhaps? Acts of thievery and child abuse took place in my house, secrets you weren't meant to find. Leo?"

Leonardo stood forward once again and offered Jed a sledgehammer. James couldn't believe it. It was the same one he was packing on the trip to Staten Island. How the hell did he get it? Jed didn't consider himself the type to act on aggression… not immediately anyway. He took his time, observing each of the four as they sweat and had looks of someone not long for their death bed.

That was when he noticed Cayla trying to keep her composure. She stared at him a scared person wearing a brave face. With the sledgehammer in hand, he got on her level, "You knew Mickey, didn't you? He never could turn away a majestic face such as yours. You must've done a number on his psyche." Suddenly, his eye caught Nick looking desperate and didn't take long for Jed to piece it together. "Young love… Mr. Novoa would rip the gates of hell open if it meant seeing you again. Too bad "Hell" is already here."

"Hey, fuck face! How's about we settle this mano a mano?" Nick proposed to Jed.

"… You think you can take me on and not die in the process?"

"No. I'll spar with Corkscrew." He said as everyone else gasped. "He had a code of his own when he was inside. His inmates didn't give two shits about his name so he put together a fighting rig to break the tension of opposing cell groups. It was a character study he pursued to see which inmates he can ally with. I fight him hand-to-hand, the winner goes free. I may not look like much, but I'd rather die on my feet than be bullied by you."

Jed took a minute to think about his proposal. He gave Corkscrew a disapproving look before getting a feel for his sledgehammer. "Thievery is not warranted in my camp. You were in my wife's lab when you stole a map of Saigon, read sensitive correspondence in my younger son's book, and at every turn you've bested the house's illusions to find your friends. I commend you for orchestrating this investigation you had planned, but all three of you stepped in places you didn't belong and for that, you're going to pay."

All four noticed he was admiring the hammer a little too much the more he held it. He slowly paced back and forth, deciding the best suitable punishment for them. Even with the gas being his driving force in his mystery endgame with Saigon, he maintained an old school personality: a pound of flesh being a sufficient lesson to not steal from him again. "The suspense is killing me" would be an understatement in their minds as they waited in the dirt. They were completely numb at this point, but still clung onto hope Jed would reconsider.

Then again, this wasn't a Hollywood movie. The situation was real and was happening without any foresight on how to dissuade him of his decision. "I've decided," he told them panning the end of the hammer towards each of them, choosing which pound of flesh to take. "I hope you've said your goodbyes before comin' here. If anyone says anything, cut his infected foot off and feed it to my pet inside. You all exposed yourselves to us. The time to evolve is now…"


	10. Chapter 10: Embers of a forgotten Race

June 23rd 2015 was the night Blue Bulls-Eye suffered a devastating blow when one of its' employees was possessed by Mickey Henderson. Some remembered the alarm going off, echoing a lifeless crescendo throughout every department. By the time everyone, save for Josh and Matt, Electronics Team Members Scott and his younger brother Lawrence made it outside, it wasn't long until a river of Manalapan police flashers rolled into the darkened parking lot. The aftershock felt something from a nightmare; "Why us?" some wondered. 2015 was the year anything could be thought of, taken out of context by the media, and buried under the rug until social media makes memes out them.

That was the fear one employee from Toys had; Jason T. Rienzo. When he was outside in the blistering heat, his whole body shook something awful. S.K. was one of his closest friends in Electronics and seeing how he was acting towards Cayla, he couldn't bear to understand what she was going through at the time. Josh and Matt were the last coming out of the store with Paramedics bringing both Scott and Marianne out on stretchers. His brother stuck to the Paramedics like glue as he got on the back of the ambulance and drove off.

Matt's hands were numb from using the taser on S.K., "What have I done?" He asked a weary Josh. He returned a defeated look with no words of comfort for the two of them. He had been working for the store since its' grand opening fifteen years prior. The retail life was a part of him like his own skin. Law Enforcement surrounded the store, inquiring various staff on what their take was on the situation.

It was news to the officers on what the orange gas resembled. For the next two hours, News 12 spared no expense by sending one of their choppers birds eyeing the lot as well as sending in their Anchor cavalry to report on the story. News 12 Anchor Danica Tenewsky had first dibs on the two head Supervisors. It was the first time either Josh or Matt faced cameras that weren't something for the Red Carpet.

"Just outside the Blue Bulls-Eye store, hundreds of Manalapan's finest are maintaining the situation. Just two hours ago, a gas canister was planted in the Backroom section of the store where Electronics employee, Shahrukh Kahn suffered complete exposure. He is currently under police custody pending his well-being. I have here with me two of the store's Team Leads, Joshua and Matthew to shed some light on what went on in there." Danica said, pointing the mic at Matt first. "Let's start with you telling us of any inclination of this taking place? Do you know who planted the gas canister?"

"Um… S.K. was not… himself when… it happened too goddamn fast." He spoke on the verge of breaking down.

"Okay, Matt, she replied, I know this is a difficult time right now but the people of New Jersey need to know what's going on. Any details you can recall…?"

"Ma'am, Josh intervened, perhaps I can take over."

"I, I'm sorry. I need to make some calls. Excuse me." Matt said storming off to the left.

"You seem well-composed with all that is going on. Did you know the victim well?"

"What happened to S.K., I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Giving it some thought, I might have an idea to who was really responsible."

"Great. I can pass this along with the local cops." She told him.

"Have you ever heard of the name "Mickey Henderson"? Josh asked her when he saw a group of cops interrogating Guest Service members. "Look into the Henderson name. I got to tend to the others."

The Manalapan Police Unit was a completely different force altogether. Some of them were encased in full body armor as if they were ready for a nuke to hit. Their department went the way of the dinosaur since Lieutenant Adamo stepped down from another incident he pursued on his own recognizance. Back then, his unit settled things in a reasonable manner, better than any highway cop would. Each district in the Garden State had their own way of scooping criminals off the streets and off bar scraps, but Manalapan was rumored to take on something far greater than any drunkard could perform.

With Adamo in seclusion somewhere in the department, his unit had come unhinged and took their anger out on some of the employees outside the store. Pushing and shoving meshed into the confusion, especially for some the elder Team Members. One was pushed on the ground with the threat of getting tased themselves. Being in the middle of the heated skirmish, Matt pulled himself together and tried breaking it up as Josh ran towards four cops harassing Guest Service employees. Alyse argued back and forth with them as Lauren held her back from doing anything foolish. He got in between them and shouted, "Break it up, break it up! The hell is going on here?!"

"Hendersons did this, didn't they?" One cop asked furiously, pointing at Alyse. "This one knows something!"

"We don't know that for sure!" Josh fired back.

As Lauren tried calming her down, Alyse raised her voice, "I don't know Mickey's deal! Josh, these assholes are blaming us for harboring a criminal!"

"Open your eyes, girl! The orange eyes are a dead giveaway!" Another cop scolded.

"I said enough!" Josh screamed. "We're in 96 degree weather at night and you wanna cause a goddamn riot?"

The four officers took a step back and observed the situation happening around them. Being literally hot under the collar themselves, the Unit came to the store under the false pretense these "Hendersons" would be present. They pulled away from any hostile exchange and called the other guys to ease up on the employees. Some night most thought; noisy sirens and indistinct communication amongst news stations would put anyone in a fighting mood. Lauren managed to get Alyse out of the heated crowds as cameras came running up towards them.

The situation must be more serious than they thought when CNN came a calling. They were persistent bastards. The bigger the story, bigger the paycheck; CNN came to collect on whatever information they could on the gas outbreak, and by doing so they harassed a near pissed off Lauren trying to fend off camera lights. That was when another Team Member, Kyle Sadler came through and used his body to barricade the cameras. "Get yourselves out of here!" He told them as they ran.

While he spun his take on what went on with S.K., News 12 took their time interviewing and keeping cops from manhandling the employees. Kevin, Jason, James, and Cayla kept to their phones, calling up family members and letting them know they were okay. Of all four, Cayla was shaken up the most. The maddening heat overtook her thinking; James swiftly got her out of there before News 12 entrapped Jason and Kevin. "Fuck my life…" Jason told himself.

"Excuse me! Danica Tenewsky: News 12, listen I know it's hot out and you guys want to get home…"

"You goddamn right it's hot, lady!" Kevin called her out. "S.K. must be frying in there."

"Was he mutual friends with this Mickey Henderson?" She asked.

"Ma'am, Jason chimed in, I was there when S.K. carried another Team Member towards the entrance of the store. Is it alright if I send a message on camera?"

"Depends on the message, she said looking at his nametag, Jason. As long as it is not a death threat, or provoking outside parties to further compromise this store."

"It's more of a plea." Jason replied looking at the camera. "Shahrukh Kahn is an innocent man. What happened tonight was an act of a sick game. Some ass-I mean lowlife put a gas canister in the backroom and S.K. took the worst of it. Who would do this? I don't know, but he was not in his own mind nor was he ever the whole time he was under the influence. I urge everyone behind me that the Manalapan Police Department sees that he gets the proper treatment he needs, and not be sent to prison. He's a good man and _friend_ of ours." He emphasized towards Kevin.

"God help all of us…" Kevin said.

What a night indeed. There could be no measure of distance between a car's taillights and the grave mistake that was left at Blue Bulls-Eye. However, Mickey made it his nightly objective to get as far away from the store as he possibly could. His shadow employer made it explicitly clear for him to drive back to Newark and close down his personal gas operations until such a time things settle down, but he knew his old man better than anyone. Jed wouldn't compromise his wife's hometown for the mistakes of his children, and his methods for rectifying them were something Mickey didn't want to think about.

He got his Toyota Camry back on the parkway and took a smooth detour towards an abandoned chop shop he knew in Elizabeth. That was where Holly and his sister Juniper hunkered down at. Prior to the store outbreak, Mickey made it his mission to never set foot in that store again. The only reason he reconsidered was due to his employer being suddenly invested in his family's Soul Leaping history. It had certain properties that correlated with his line of work.

As crazy as it was for him to believe, his employer showed him things that would put actual believers in a mental hospital, but Mickey didn't care. After what happened to his former girlfriend, Helena… he remembered two solemn moments he had with Cayla when he was on his lunch break. She was always the kind one. As his gas alter ego would say otherwise, the human Mickey considered her a kind, mutual acquaintance. He never had an attraction towards her.

In spite of his upbringing, his grandfather Lyle had the right idea of using the gas to possess scum like rapists and child predators, causing them to commit suicide when their short-lived use was over. It was a twisted justice the Hendersons had at one point; he wanted to bring that era back. He drove around the entire night, took four different exits that all led to his work zone. It became a science in making sure the cops wouldn't predict his path. Mickey remembered it like clockwork: wake up, go to his legitimate job, circle around the four exits to get to Newark, rinse and repeat.

No matter how bad a situation went for him, it was his mother's love for the road that put things in perspective. 8:15 in the morning; sun was creeping up while his gas reservoir plummeted towards "empty". Pulling into a Quick Check, the heatwave from the night before died down, welcoming Mickey a cool breeze with the aroma of grounded coffee inside the store. While getting his car filled he walked inside for a cup, sticky bun, and a speed dial call to touch base with his mother. _"You have reached 717-05-1939. To leave a message, please hold… *beep*"_

Mickey's heartbeat danced a nervous pace; something wrong must have happened he feared. His mother was no stranger in using burner phones. He then proceeded, "Ma, it's me and before you ask… I'm using a new burner. Look, ah, I really need to see you. Something happened last night in Manalapan and… I think my batch was tampered with, and I have a good idea who. Let's meet up at your chop shop in, say, half an hour? I miss you two. Bye…"

Doctors come in all shapes and schools of medicine. Roger Eckstein began building his practice by studying Oncology in his medical school days. He developed a threshold on how to break the harsh news to many families when it came to their loved ones having cancer. Normally, Roger kept that cold information to himself until he explored alternate possibilities for remission, but 8 times out of 10 it was the same result. Being a man in his mid-forties, his life took an interesting turn when he met a distinguished case with early stages of Leukemia and a sordid history.

It was no chance encounter when he met Mackenzie Nivans for the first time at a wine tasting function in Brooklyn. He couldn't quite describe it at the time, but meeting her and two young teenagers there was a "rebel without a cause" vibe going on. For a long time he felt powerless in keeping his patients alive, but his life changed into something exciting. Two years and counting since both he and Ms. Nivans "parted ways" he took some extended time off to reevaluate his life goals. Not just for himself, but for his wife of eleven years Kendra and their son, Wallace. Treating Ms. Nivans put a dent in their marriage since they met.

Originally, he only went there through an invite of a colleague. It was a win/lose situation. On one hand, Kendra was thrilled Roger had finally met a patient he could help cure Leukemia. If he could just cure one patient, it would all be worth it she felt. On the other hand, the amount of time he put into the case was bordering on scary.

He stopped coming to the hospital. His colleagues called left and right to find out where he was. If it wasn't paperwork on a cancer patient's outcome, it was movie night with his wife. Eventually, this one obsession had him coming home at abnormal hours. After eleven years, she packed her bags one day, took their son and left without a word.

April 27th was the day he dreaded to this day. It was Wallace's birthday. He would have been about seven when he went to Staten Island for a "final solution" to her cancer. Several weeks passed; obscure news about a boarding house raid sanctioned by some "headstrong combatant" going around. A week after, Roger found himself on the road back to Bayshore with a plant on the passenger's side; berries grew on the side of it.

He pleaded and argued with the hospital board for his old job back, knowing he had an ace in the hole to back him up. They knew of his obsession with Ms. Nivans, but they acknowledged him as a medical practitioner more. The plant went through focus groups and human trials to see if what did for his former patient would do the same for others. At the very best, it was a step in developing a foreign remedy for Leukemia patients. That alone grant Roger a consultation job to oversee the literal fruit of his labors.

The results of the Kikipsi berry remedy turned a complete 180. Patients who were at Stage 3 went into remission the very next day. Other Oncologists became astounded at how simple berry juices can attack cancer cells. However, most would be lying if every patient was a homerun. Some went into remission, but for those with tumors the berries had no effect on them; no shrinking whatsoever. Like his marriage, he was caught in a win/lose situation.

That was, until he got a call from a hospital in Raritan about four Blue Bulls-Eye employees being admitted. Three got hurt from natural causes like a swollen neck and broken ribs, but one of them was in critical condition. At first, Roger denied the fact he ever heard of a gas called "Soul Leaping". The Raritan Medical Board insisted, almost in a threatening tone, that he would consult with them anyway. Head of the board, Harrison Stern skipped the pleasantries.

"Good morning everyone, Harrison announced to his colleagues sitting down, we've got a lot of work to do and not much time so let me briefly introduce Doctor Roger Eckstein."

"Hello, I understand this meeting pertains to the incident that happened in Manalapan last night."

"Phones have been ringing off the hook." One member said, handing him patient files. "Four employees have had exposure to this soul leaping gas."

"How did this occur?" Roger asked.

"Shahrukh Kahn, 22 years of age, he was the first person to be exposed." Harrison replied. "Going by what the Manalapan Police Department told us, he is under tight security so we can't treat him. The other three however are present in our ICUs."

"Something doesn't sound right. How come Mr. Kahn is not receiving treatment? He took the worst of it. Isn't that why you called me here?"

The other board members looked at each other like they knew something Roger didn't. Harrison sighed and told him, "Doctor Eckstein, we have reason to believe you are connected to what happened to these four individuals."

"I was told Shahrukh caused a big disturbance with his other co-workers, like he was a man possessed. Granted, I'm the type of individual who likes to see things through, but… we are talking about a poison gas that nearly caused four deaths. How is it _I'm_ connected to any of that?"

"… Your last patient had Leukemia, yes?" Harrison pulled out a printed newspaper story. "This is a paraphrased article someone posted online two years ago. The original source was written by an aspiring journalist, detailing a number of events that took place in a boarding house on Staten Island. When he submitted his piece to the Times, they removed it a day later. Now, unlike most people I keep an open mind on conspiracy theories. Read the highlighted paragraph, if you please."

The rough article had a bit of a supernatural element spliced into the story. It spoke of the Henderson Family, Saigon, bits of dialogue between two opposing parties, and the word "Kikipsi". Roger's eyes lit up when he perused the paragraph; it had his name on it as well as the foreign berries "Ms. Nivans" used to grow in a greenhouse. It went on a short length how the voice of an understanding man kept assuring Mackenzie the berries were going to cure her and one other person named Terry. After reading it aloud, his eyes caught a highlighted sentence scaling down, stating an explosion was heard. When it was all said and done five hours later, the only casualty that was intact was a burnt body.

Burnt beyond recognition as it was put; Roger quaked in his shoes for a bit. Tiny beads of sweat started forming down his head. He then looked up, "Mackenzie Nivans didn't make it. She couldn't stand dying in a hospital so she wanted to try for one last solution. That was when she showed me the Kikipsi berries."

"This woman's condition nearly cost you your career." Harrison brought up.

"It cost me my wife and son. You want the truth? There was an attack on her home. I don't know anything about the Henderson family, but when she stopped breathing I… what is to be done with me?"

"By law, we should report you to the local authorities. Preferably, the ones who were at the boarding house back then. Son, I won't deny you were a great Oncologist once. This is serious. Having you here talking to us puts us all at risk. What happened at Blue Bulls-Eye is an attack similar to Staten Island. Law Enforcement is keeping a tight lid on it so local hospitals around Jersey will have to take action. The only reason you're not in handcuffs is because judging from the human trials you oversaw at Bayshore, increased cancer patient remission up to 83%."

"There's only one problem with those trials." Board Member Callum chimed in, handing Roger another patient file. "Luke Hilson: 69 years of age, Stage 3 Hodgkin's Lymphoma. He was ready to "check out" when his medical insurance cut him off from any further treatment. Apparently, Doctor Karlo, the one treating him thought it would be best to admit him to the human trials of your berry remedy. Here is where the real problem comes in. Karlo couldn't touch the berries in its liquid form. From the hot vapors coming from 'em, they damn near burned through his gloves."

"I was there after it happened." He acknowledged. "I specifically told him not to go anywhere near the liquid until I was there supervising the treatment. People, I know the way I went in retrieving these berries is sketchy, but as I've said on multiple occasions this stuff is highly volatile in the wrong hands."

"Yeah, clearly, Callum spoke suspiciously, before you entered the room Mr. Hilson's organs were boiling from the inside after the Kikipsi was given. He was in agonizing pain until _you_ rushed in and simply stood at his side. This same occurrence happened on nine other cancer cases where lives were saved and kept them comfortable when they couldn't. We just find it odd you're the only one who is immune while others got burned by physical contact."

"This is a peculiar predicament for you, Roger." Harrison said. "Our hands are literally tied with this poisonous gas, and you're the only person who can save the remaining three employees. Whether we think it's ethical or not, you're our only chance."

"I appreciate that." Roger said holding the patient files. "I am also capable of owning up to past mistakes. With that being said after I cure the others, I will accept any punishment deemed necessary. Now if you excuse me."

Roger commuted between Bayshore, Elizabeth, and medical facilities around Freehold as a consult. To him, Raritan was a beast altogether. He had sit-downs with other Deans of Medicine, worked with tired staff, and while he had the pleasure to visit different schools of thought, he felt Raritan was where he finally needed to be. It was only a matter of time and deep shoveling through the triage of his background for any suspicious practices. Two years was a long time to bear the loss of Mackenzie "Henderson".

Under the dire circumstances, she was the only other woman to ever breathe new life in his profession. As for Tyler and Vince, seeing them in their internships at Bayshore only further proved you can take the wrong out of someone, and have them do something right for their future. Thinking about it as he went to the first ICU, holding store employee Scott Mitchell, things such as the past was the only thing keeping him sane. Briefly looking at the file, Scott's condition was three broken ribs, head trauma, and a brief exposure to the gas. Although not life threatening, Roger brought enough of his remedy to set things straight.

When he saw Scott bruised along his face and his stomach bandaged, Roger widened his eyes as his blood turned cold. One other doctor escorted him the entire time. "Is… everything alright, Doctor Eckstein?" he asked. His novice tone crept into Roger's ears, snapping him out of his shocked state. Looking at him, he gave a depressing nod that he was fine, if only there was a pill to cure seeing a ghost. He kept that part to himself.

"Scott Mitchell." The doctor announced. "He was admitted here last night along with his brother, Lawrence. Man, if I had a brother like him…"

"And where is the next of kin?"

"Last night, he said he had a morning class over at Georgian Court. He said he'll check back 'round 4. Scott has been in and out all day. His exposure to this "soul" gas was minimal, but the other surgeons had him wearing a facemask to be sure." He explained as he kept noticing something was off. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I need the room." He replied. "The Kikipsi remedy usually takes four-seven hours to kick in depending on the severity of the exposure. In his case, it shouldn't be more than an hour. I don't want you burning your eyes from the vapors."

"With all due respect sir, you're under a microscope by Dean Stern himself; his words. I don't want to lose my license." He said as he moved to a far corner of the room. "I can stand here if you like, be far enough away from the vapors."

Roger brought a crockpot sized portion of the Kikipsi liquid. Moving closer and closer to Scott, a fragmented memory or two invaded his senses for a short period of time. Slowly but precise, he took out a sterile needle half the size of an old TV antenna, filled it up and administered it just as carefully into his veins. Every last drop in the needle went through; all that was left was to wait. He then took one of the visitor chairs resting next to the left side of the bed, sat quietly for a few minutes watching him close. At the same time however, novice eyes burned to the side of his skull, asking him, "Do you have children?"

"Sir…?" He asked confusingly.

"My son Wallace and I used to come up with these tall tales that were just… god awful." He chuckled. "His mom and I worked a lot, but whenever I had the chance we would make up stories: people, the clouds, a hockey game; anything to keep entertained. It was either that or we played on a dusty Playstation console. Then it was about Utopias, unique animals, and flying towards a world with infinite ways to build something new. I miss those days."

"… My fiancé Larissa, we talk sometimes about having kids." He replied. "She's studying in Real Estate while I'm struggling to be a regular Physician. It's not easy as I'm sure you know. This is going to sound corny, but tell me a story. We got time."

"I don't think it's corny at all, son." Roger told him. "My man right here, he had a life way before working in retail. There was a time when he was an extraordinary human being; a life where he swam strong with stone whales."

"Sounds odd, but interesting, what's the story called?

"The Quinlan Shores…"

Roger had him lock the door and close the blinders as he wanted the entire room sworn to isolation. As the foreign remedy worked its way into Scott's veins, the center of his chest was exposed and darkened his skin. The background noise of their modern reality slipped away from their ears and before Scott knew it, his view opened up to the vicious cold winds acting as gravity pulling him down towards an ocean, but not just any sapphire oasis. This ocean was made entirely out of gemstone colored milk. Its creamy substance muffled his screaming, and all that was heard was the fear of drowning towards whatever dark figures moving below.

Taking a few minutes to gather his thought process, Scott suddenly felt a familiarity to his surroundings. His upper body kept him afloat and seeing through the milky aftermath of his descent, he saw an implosion bottlenecked from a distance. It couldn't have been any more than three miles from where he swam. The fear of drowning into an abyss escaped from his mind; not all of it was gathered yet, but another fear took hold on his senses. "Ziia…" He softly spoke, bringing him a split second image of a creature made entirely of stone.

Right then, Scott knew where he was; ending up in milky waters was no accident. The Quinlan Shores are the backbone upon which the planet was created. Planet Daegon it was called. The very skies he glimpsed didn't have clouds, but swirling, slow moving comets filled with synapses; memories. However, these memories were neither set in stone, nor belonged to anyone.

All of Scott's memories flooding back only sent him deeper into the shores' abyss. Sight, smell, and touch rendered disabled for the moment as gravity pulled his body towards a cave welded in the ground. From there, the oceanic currents gave him a guided tour of the structure. He didn't even have to hold his breath anymore. Getting closer inside, the severe tightness in his chest dissipated and his heart opened up a shiny purple substance. It spread throughout the rest of him, pulling him up to the surface where a whole new world was revealed.

On Earth, it would be a fisherman's dream to have a shrine dedicated to their lifelong journey at sea. For "Scott", his shrine contained trinkets of an exotic nature, wild plant life glassed for display, and in one area of the cave had tally marks. It didn't take a genius to determine how long he lived on this "Daegon"; did days, months, and years differ from Earth? If so, the nagging feeling in the back of his head kept telling him something was wrong still. He slipped between two personalities: one having a complete understanding of where he was while the other feared he might have died on his hospital bed.

Taking his time searching around the shrine filled with all of his accomplishments, he came across an engraved map of sorts. It displayed fourteen regions in Daegon and what each one represented. Five caught his eye as he perused down each name: Emerald, Ives, Selai, Quinlan… and as soon as he uttered the name "Yularin", a loud and crackling splash occurred behind him. "Scott" grabbed two arm attached weapons to what looked to be scythes with purple, artistic markings engraved on the hilts. His bare feet carried him over to the source of the splash with a killer instinct set to purpose.

An exhausted voice cried, "Zoran… Zoran, it's me!" Another life form with a yellow aura entrapped on his body called out to Scott's alter ego, triggered him to cease his movement. Both scythes were close to the man's neck, "Wait, brother! Zoran, I had no other choice."

"What is this place?!" Zoran demanded.

"Please, you _have_ to listen to me." He pleaded with him. "We are not supposed to exist anymore. Don't you remember? Madam Apex, the First Creative Pitfall, Tavia?"

Zoran struggled to stay focused on the moment. The only name that stayed his hands was, "Ziia, where is Ziia?"

"The Mother Stone Whale, she is… we have a lot to talk about. Do you remember me?" He asked, staying still. "My name is Roland Yularin. I am field farmer, one of the agricultural innovators who grew the Kikipsi berries. They are running through your veins this very moment. Your name is Zoran. You were materialized by the first Synaptic life form to ever inhabit this planet."

"… Emilia Apex." He tried to remember.

"Yes!" Roland acknowledged.

"I remember, he said still filling in the empty spots, something occurred up top, three miles out."

"Those are the Emerald Synaptics. They like to think on their feet." Roland replied. "You should sit down."

Synapses, or neural energy containing memories, are a fragile thing for any life form in the universe. Two former Synaptics from different regions sat with one another in Zoran's cave, and as much would one want to admit to the other, it felt like no time passed. Roland wanted to table the rich history of their birthplace for the moment to touch base on the crucial details. First and foremost, Daegon was on the cusp of a second Creative Pitfall; a period where two Synaptics with differing ideas do not mesh. To other worlds, it can be considered as a focal point for discussion, but for them it was serious.

Emilia Apex was the founding mother to be materialized in an aquatic Milky Way traversing through an unknown galaxy. When she grew arms, legs, a set of eyes as well as a face to rest them on, like an infant brought into the world she had no clue where to go, or what life was supposed to mean. She swam through the same shores Zoran did; a light violet oasis that spanned for miles all around. No land or other signs of life to speak of. It would take a professional swimmer precisely twelve hours to swim from one side of the oasis to the other.

One day during her swimming travels, a swirling beam of synaptic energy absorbed into her body, and that was when the groundwork for the planet began. Her mind was the only resource at her disposal. With synaptic energy, her mind expanded and began creating barren lands, molding wildlife to inhabit them. It wasn't until ages later Roland explained when Synaptics were finally created, people in her image. He remembered reading an archived document, detailing the origins of Zoran.

Like many of Daegon's kind, they were created to be alone. Zoran was born deep within the milky shores, and when he opened his eyes for the first time, stone whales half the size of flying zeppelins swam past him. They never noticed him or chased him away. Daegon wildlife was the toughest to create from synaptic energy because of their unique biology. Their adapting to a world unknown made them savage, scouring the barren outlands for any traces of food.

The Stone Whales introduced an attainable fact: Element of Free Will. Ziia was the first dark stone creature with purple gemstone eyes, and when they met with Zoran for the first time, he surrendered. The number of days since he materialized was lost on him. Within the sea, Ziia placed the very tip of her fin onto his chest, communicating with him. It registered as a strange dialect, but in the common tongue she spoke, _"You are Synaptic. You are alone. Since the Age of Apex, I have never felt such loneliness from a two legged creature. How would you like to live among us? Would you like that, Zoran?"_

A child surrounded by Stone Whales was a sight to behold. Their gemstone eyes gave off a warm, welcoming feeling as many of Ziia's kin agreed to raise him. Hesitant to speak from his mind at first, he calmed himself and said, _"I am home."_ It was these three little words that reminded him as long as he cared for the Quinlan Shores, the shores will care for him, and thus thrusted him into a long and prosperous career as the "Caretaker of the Stone Whales." Daegon became a much more tolerant, planetary society as other forms of wildlife and Synaptics learned to get along with one another.

For a time, Emilia Apex believed her creation could stand out from other worlds amongst the stars. Many wanted to believe her, but then again, synaptic energy did more than just provide mental blueprints to make the planet inhabitable. It also presented an inevitable future.

"Ziia was like a mother I have always wanted to meet. We traversed every corner of these shores more than once, absorbing the beams that flow above us. Every day was a new discovery for us. Roland, I'm not blind to what became of Daegon." He told him, trying to gather his train of thought. "I still can't fill in all the pieces. What I do know is that no one survived. We didn't survive for a reason."

"… I'm still figuring things out myself." Roland replied. "I don't even know how I came back to life. I… somewhat know what brought me back however."

"What was it?"

"Celestial Integration is what it was called. I was taught by another Synaptic before the end. He… did what he thought was right. All I remember was the indescribable pain. You have that power, too."

" _I_ have that power…? Scott Mitchell. I can sometimes hear his thoughts, his own memories. He lives life, as Earth would say it, "on the edge." He said looking at an oval mirror. "It seems he also resembles my facial traits, but younger. _You_ look younger as well. The Yularin Fields has been kind to you."

Roland's eyes began to well up. Seeing an old friend die and come back after all this time can weigh a person down. It wasn't because of friendship though. There was still much to their history neither had remembered fully yet. This was only the first step in the grand scheme of things.

Zoran's cave had seen better days now that his mind settled and viewed around. It used to be on the surface, safeguarded by the Stone Whales themselves; for what purpose was yet to be discovered. Lines of synaptic yellow on his body began to fade with Zoran's purple eyes brightening. The Kikipsi treatment was working. Scott Mitchell, the human side of him was going to finally wake up. "What's happening to me?" Zoran asked curiously, to which Roland responded, "We've been given a second chance, old friend. Just remember these words, "Daegon lives."

Scott was usually a heavy sleeper. But when he arose like his heart getting a jolt, he woke up in sweat soaked sheets. The pain from his broken ribs subsided, and the concussion from his head was brought to a mere headache. Both were manageable, thank god he thought. Sitting up, surprisingly quenched and not needing medical attention, a small part of him felt he lived a life before working for Blue Bulls-Eye. His heart was heavy, too, suddenly realizing two other people were in the same position he was. He prayed for Daniela's and especially S.K.'s speedy recovery. Something told him all three had a part to play in the days ahead.


	11. Chapter 11: What we do now

It was 48 hours before the biggest payday of their lives. 18 months of planning, weeks of tryouts for "getaway driver" and "utilities", combined with the constant nagging feeling of getting caught by security. That's all it would take; one red beam trip or camera detection to bring the entire heist down. Comic book Conventions are like job fairs for the more invested, young individual. You go in with your costume game in peak condition, pay lump sums to selfie with other cosplayers, and buy as much merchandise you can throughout the 72 hour event.

"It's who you know _and_ who you can stomach." Sylvester once told James. Their golden ticket split into seven suits that were worn by the Bat Family in the DC Universe. Making contacts over the cons he went to, Sylvester also established with one person who knows another person with connections to other persons, leading towards the Black Market trade. He kept that part from James, knowing he was the "seeing before believing" type. The bat suits were kept in their individual, bullet proof glass cases at a GenCon event in Illinois; biggest event of 2014.

They had it all figured out plus two other candidates tagging along for the ride, Paul and Dino. These two were Comic Con aficionados with a thrill for taking on something much grander than themselves. Sylvester was on the fence with them at first, knowing the things they've bought at past Cons outweighed the stuff they took without looking. The latter contained priceless items like the 70's Wonder Woman attire, Deadshot's wrist gun, variants of Kryptonite rocks, things that can make a man cave look cool, but not for the long haul. Dino played the role of "utilities guy", bringing tools to dismantle security alarms and quiet on his feet. Paul on the other hand took on handling the truck.

Some members of the group hoped 48 hours would fly by while James used the time he had to reflect. It was a rainy day in the neighborhood with the aroma of Domino's Pizza and cheap beer. All four guys hung out in Sly's man cave, laughing and owning each other in _Injustice: Gods Among Us_ on the good ol' Playstation 4. Almost two hours squatting in a nerd's utopia, James took his beer and walked up the raggedy steps onto Sly's back deck, sitting under an umbrella overhead and listened to the rain drops hitting the ground. Reflecting one's life and where it has gotten them can be a healthy thing to do once in a while.

Going to Cons and lifting a nice trinket or five was one thing. The heist however… the Batman Lore gained a nervous amount of traction as of late. The Arkham video games were a success, people dressing up as the Joker himself as well as the abundance of animated films surrounding the caped crusader. This was no small lift, he felt. Fans, regardless if they were pro DC or Marvel, would sport a green Robin Hood uniform and chop their arm off just to take a picture of the bat suits. No mistake or quarter given to the other side must ever come to light. Drinking his beer, Sly followed up on his fellow neighbor to see what was up.

"Hey, hey, you're missin' all the fun!" Sly pointed out.

"I think after the tenth round of Martian Manhunter vs. Lex Luthor Mech, one has to say "fuck it, I'm out." James chuckled.

"You doing okay, been awfully silent the past three weeks. Shit man, he sat next to him, I never thought 48 hours can move so slowly."

"It's better that way if you ask me. Rushing into this job is the _last_ thing any of us want."

"Except for Dino, dude's been behind bars before. If he gets caught, he'll use his cut as bail money. However, that's if he doesn't spill where it originated from." Sly said feeling concerned for James. "There's gotta be something else bothering you, Jimbo. I can feel it."

"… I got a phone call." He replied.

"One of your siblings came down with the flu again?"

James hesitated a bit. If only it was as simple as head congestion and cold sweats. He then told him, "I got a job, a legitimate retail job in Manalapan."

"Jesus Christ…" Sly scratched his head.

"Dude, before you start…" James said before getting cut off.

"With the background you have, the number of lifts you made without paying for 'em, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Do you honestly think the stuff I took were the real thing? Sly, I know how you feel about retail work, but please, think! How long does the thrill last until one slip up ends it all? I just… I just want some legit cash in my bank account without looking over my shoulder."

"We've always been careful, James. God forbid we don't map out a convention hall before making a move!"

"How many close calls have we had though?"

Professional or green, a con man was only as good as his strategy. Upon reflecting his life choices, thinking back to past conventions in New York, California, Seattle, even out of the country for anime merchandise which James had never done before, the number of close calls were heart pounding. As the two argued on the simple ethics of having legal income, James brought up a past con they went to back in 2012; Emerald City Comicon. At the time, it was a nice break from the usual hit spots where they loot up and sell through anonymous channels. Ebay was the obvious choice, one that Sly wanted to think outside the box when it came to selling.

Seattle's very own convention featured props and replica swords from J.R.R. Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_. From elven bows to the One Ring, James especially wanted to add some diversity to his own man cave, but there was one complication. Every item available for purchase had an encoded security chip which can only be removed by the seller. Being a huge fan of fantasy in his own right, Sly salivated at the sight of an Istari made staff owned by the White Wizard, Saruman. An exit point was mapped out by James that led to an abandoned part of an underground parking garage.

Here was where the close call came in. Being completely against taking the staff, the crowded con goers made the situation for a Plan B futile. Sly went in disguise as Gandalf the Grey, squeezed through a bunch of Trekkies to reach the staff. By the time they made it to a door leading to the garage, two harsh taps on their shoulders made their hearts drop to their stomachs. Both turned around and saw three security guards confronting them. According to the staff, it was won in a trivia contest six weeks prior to the convention, and it was won by a veteran who did two tours in Afghanistan.

Both he and his daughter Livia was huge _Lord of the Rings_ fans and couldn't wait to get their prize. James didn't know what to say. The only thing he accomplished that day was losing three pounds of sweat he got from his costume. Sly removed his beard and said over the crowd, "I called out to you guys before! I overheard from a couple of teenage elves they were plannin' on taking this thing. We were hoping you could keep a closer eye on the staff 'till the winner shows up. It's Blake Weinstein, right?"

It was one of the lamest excuses he ever pulled off on security personnel. Coincidental circumstances arose when the actual winner showed up with his daughter after eight and a half minutes of smooth talking. Sly was neither the sentimental nor entertaining type, but as soon as he slid Gandalf's beard back on and put on his best Ian McKellan impression, it was like James slipped into another dimension. He had no words to back up their case, just stood like a statue as Livia's eyes lit up as the staff went over to her. It became one of the biggest close calls they ever had, and since then over the three years they went to conventions, the other close calls didn't come close.

However, it gave James a stroke of conscience that led him on the path of job applications and phone interviews, all leading to the Blue Bulls-Eye store in Manalapan, New Jersey. The argument came down to a simmer when Sly did some reflecting of his own. Coming from a strict business background with no wiggle room to be your own man, it made him somewhat cold to James.

"Look here, I have made a crap ton of mistakes in my 33 years livin' on this Earth. You know my old man and his old man? They strove to become these big headed brokers in NYC. My father said, "You're 19 now, Sylvester. Now is the time to carry on the Sozzamenu tradition in being a giant in the business world. Finance, trading, Real Estate, it's your choice, son. Just say the word and I'll pull the strings to get you started…"

He made a lot of contacts with a few assholes thrown in the bunch. The point I'm makin' J, is that we don't choose how we make our mark in this life. There is only one, and you make the best with what you got. I can't stop you from backing out of this heist. If retail is your path, I'll ah… learn to accept it."

James smiled and patted his back, "Thanks, brother. You're a good guy when you're not debating Nygma riddles with someone."

"Shaddup, he chuckled along with him, alright, too much sentiment between neighbors. Let's get you hammered at least. My god, you barely touched your beer."

"I just wanted to get that off my chest. I wish you luck out there."

One can never truly know where they end up. They can either be living life to the fullest on their feet, or be a fleeting memory in the ground. A day of horror was orchestrated and spread through every corner of Henderson territory. The boarding house was a crippling shadow of what it once was, and continued crippling still. One rotted board after another, it secretly gave Corkscrew a comforting feeling that one nightmare out of many was dying.

Jed Henderson put on a brave face on the teenage stage when he made his debut, but unlike his son, the house before him left a hole in his chest. He couldn't let the events that transpired here go unpunished, not with much on the line for the long haul. The comfortable, warm air gave way to intense heat as 500 Soul Leapers chanted with astonishment with each meat crushing sound being made. Seeing a scenario like this in a horror movie… who were we kidding, Matt thought, feeling depleted and scared at the same time? A spark inside him wanted him on his feet, tackle the sledge hammering maniac, and fight their way out of Staten Island.

Orange eyes were everywhere; most of the gas converts that were seen barely looked human anymore. The only ones that still had some humanity etched on their faces were Corkscrew, Jed and his "fortune telling" associate, Quinn. Everyone else let off a sadistic laugh as James's shattered skull glitter the hollow ground with his blood. Cold sweat rained down their faces. They wanted to run, but between them and half an army towards the exit was a lose/lose situation.

Nick's face went numb as blood spattered on the right side of his clothes. As for Cayla, her brave face submitted to the horror that was to come next. When Jed was done dishing out his evolution lesson, he lifted his sledgehammer from the blood soaked dirt and presented it to the others. "The amount of effort spent here, Jed told them, is what I expect from my converts. Our evolution event, or better yet, our _retribution_ day is coming. James, although loyal to you three, knew people in least likely places that can expose what I'm trying to accomplish. I can easily turn 'em into one of our own, but at this point my family has wasted enough resources."

"And what of my brother Terry, Corkscrew asked, you know who's responsible for his condition."

"Terrence…" He spoke solemnly, looking at the house.

Unnatural sounds dwelled within the boarding house. It grew louder and louder like it was fighting for a way out. Nick especially looked behind to see where it was coming from; he already danced with the pale devil once. One loud shift in the foundation caused Nick to scream, "GET DOOOOOWN!" As soon as all three plopped on the ground, a nightmare emerged as an orange eyed ghoul leaping over and stood before everyone else. Corkscrew was taken aback by the abhorrent image whilst Jed and his men stood firm, as if he waited for this moment to become a reality.

Dropping his hammer, he took a step forward as the Soul Leapers stood their ground. Jed looked upon him with a twisted love in his eyes, "So… my first born went to these kinds of lengths to prove his salt to me. Terrence… you are now the tip of the spear for what my plan holds for Saigon. Take a knee, son." He suggested as the ghoul gritted his teeth and kneeled. "It is time to purify our gene pool. Find Bentley, your bastard brother, and tear his body asunder."

"… The plant didn't work." Nick softly spoke to the others. "So this is what they look like…"

"Terry" raised his mutated hand, quickly halting the others to cease what they were about to do. Landing on his right shoulder, he looked his father square in the eye and discerned three words, "Henderson… is dead." An air piercing scream scorched the cloudy sky above, sending half the Soul Leapers on their backs in agony. Terry slashed his father's face and sent him flying towards his gassed horde. The other half on Mo's side stood firm as they readied themselves to take down a pale abomination. Mo couldn't believe Bentley did this to their younger brother.

After all the trouble Aunt Kenzie went through to create a cure to the family curse, Jed's influence outweighed what his sister intended in the end. Corkscrew made the first move by trying to subdue his brother, but to the unaltered eyes it was like seeing a hunter fighting a bear without protection. Matt trying to keep his focus intact, struggled his way towards Nick and Cayla as all three scrambled for a way to cut their binders. What came out of the big hole in the house was more than just Terry seeking revenge; bones were littered all over the ground. Much to her surprise, Cayla recognized their shape when they were piled up with its' owner in ghost form.

No one could have saved Jackson in life, but in death he lent more than a sobering voice to help them break free. They grabbed the sharpest bones they could find and went to work on cutting the binders. Then, without sensing where he came from, the mind reader Quinn rushed up to Matt in his leaper form, placing the others in a panic.

 _"_ _You three are in Henderson Camp, now."_ He spoke in a demonic tone. Sternly viewing Matt, all Quinn saw in his future was a fading corpse. _"Except this one…"_

"Leave him alone! You deal with me, now!" Nick demanded as Quinn turned around. "Yo, dipshit, I'm talkin' to you!"

"These cold hearted bastards…" Cayla said to herself.

The horde in front of them went to war with one another, trying to tear down the pale ghoul while tending to Jed's wound. Quinn's body was nowhere to be seen, but for a split second he saw Terry leaping over the horde and feasting on his corpse soon after. He then dropped Matt and clenched his fists, foresaw what was to happen next. It was a jump cut of moving images of what was to become of the three, and when he finally came to… it suddenly made sense. Quinn turned his attention to Nick and Cayla, _"Take your dead weight."_ He said tossing Matt in front of them. " _This moment is merely a taste for what's to come. Keep your loved ones close."_

It only took thirty seconds for Nick and Cayla to get on their feet and hightail it out of Staten in the confusion. In a perfect world, it would have been a "scrape by" to escape 500 phantoms trying to kill you. However, there were worse things than death. Quinn somersaulted in the air and fused himself into Nick's body, leaving her screaming his name, begging him to fight it. Nightmares were a dime a dozen for her; seeing him twist in ways like he was being exorcised caused her heart to still.

At that point, she was as limp as he was when the gas took hold. Matt got up and got themselves running towards a large piece of the house's debris. Chaos of the horror variety swirled all around. There were no words to what was going through their minds. Matt being the only one awake at the time, consoled her by saying, "We need to get the hell outta here…" The hopelessness in her eyes stared back at him with no urgency to stand up.

He got in front of her and begged, "Look, I don't know how yet, but there has to be a way to stop these fuckers and save Nick. Did you guys find any clues when you were investigating? Alright, I see the sledgehammer Jed dropped. If I can get to it, we'll have a fighting chance." He told her as she remained motionless. "Cayla, we can't just sit here. Jed or Corkscrew might come for us next."

"… Do what you need to do." She spoke. "If a Soul Leaper gets me…"

"I don't wanna hear it." He fired back. "You stay close to me, you understand; like glue. I'll lead us out."

It was a thick and foggy path between where they were and the exit ahead. Matt helped themselves up with a somewhat clear view of the abandoned hammer lying on the dirt. He looked back with her giving an uncertain nod she was ready to run, and before long Matt held her hand tight and rushed into the demon's smoke. Such things like sound and fear were stowed away. The sledgehammer's handle flew into his hand, swinging it at whoever came at them.

Within the thick of the ghoul skirmish, Cayla caught a glimpse of "Nick" staring back at her with the same empty look S.K. gave her. The leapers began surrounding them, but something snapped inside her as she felt the warm steel of the knife in her pocket. Four Soul Leapers came at her left. Not thinking twice, she drove the knife into one of their skulls; it became a free-for-all trying to escape. By the time they were halfway towards the exit, blinding lights engulfed the scenery. Aerial and ground lights turned the Leapers skittish; both didn't stick around to get in police crosshairs or whatever intervened.

Any direction at this point was a right one, Matt thought. Cayla blacked out from the trail of battle left in their wake; whatever came before was a distant memory. Neither knew how long they were out, running for their lives with nothing but fumes to keep them going. Strange thing was the one thing that kept Cayla from tipping over the precipice was none other than Jackson's voice. _"I didn't do much to be great in this life._ He spoke in her head. _"And yet… I'm still here, making a difference. I have eyes on Terry now. Don't worry, your friend Nick won't be harmed by the Hendersons. Rest now; there is a way back from all of this. I'll guide you…"_

A slight shine of the sun's rays crept over a faded window. By the time she opened her eyes, she was on a train with Matt. How they got there at all was a miracle, but it would have been a greater miracle if her head wasn't pounding and feverish.

"M-matt…? Hey, you awake?"

"Ugh, he groaned in his sleep, god I smell like shit."

"That makes two of us." She replied, slowly sitting up. "How did we get here, Matt?"

"Josh… I know Nick spoke to him before you came to Staten Island. He wanted me to make sure you guys didn't get killed. And James…" He said, feeling taken aback.

"We were in _way_ over our heads back there. I saw the devil in plain sight and for a short span of time… I wasn't mortified. I should've been that one girl who survives the whole ordeal, only to be screwed over at the end."

"But you weren't." He told her. "You're braver than you realize. Those Hendersons will pay for this. Mark my words. Somehow, someway we will make it right."

"I don't have anything in me, Matt. I don't even wanna think about today, just want Nick by my side."

"… Get some rest, Cayla. We're going home."

There is a different coping mechanism for all kinds of people. Some drink down their woes, some exercise their frustrations at the gym, and others cut themselves off from the rest of the world. No common logic or factual explanation could justify the events that came undone in Staten Island. Jed Henderson was at large according to the news reports finally putting their ears to the very ground they treaded on. It was the same spun tale as it has been for four decades: orange gas appears, takes whoever gets caught in it, and disappears just as quickly.

The 500 Soul Leapers that waged war on their own turf were caught in a stream of infrared lights, and shot to hell thanks to New York's extra finest, SWAT. The parties involved said their hit number was approximately 126; an act of retribution for the number of cops dead in the pursuit of the Hendersons. New York was wide awake when the gas was brought it to its knees; it only took a burning boarding house for the rest of the world to see. For too long, Staten Island was the center of gas conversion, but with the Hellspawns looking to protect neighborhoods and an influential donor to NY orphanages, the city only just began rebuilding itself, making preparations in case Jed took his personal vendetta wide scale. Two days after the attack, Darrien put out a kill order on Corkscrew.

He wanted to remind his inhabitants that a good Henderson is a dead one, no matter what truce that was brokered beforehand. Traitors can be dealt with in the right light, but nothing comes close to the things he's seen with the gas. Unlike the local gangs in the Barrios, Soho, and the Bronx, the Hellspawns kept their own ears to the local channels on the orphanage donor; Esmeralda Saladin. Not a single resource was left unused in the three weeks after the attack. Born of Northern Indian descent, Esmeralda was a sole survivor of a terrorist threat in the year 1977.

With the execution of her mother and father refusing to join the Kabul Death Squads, she spent most of her child life hiding behind dumpsters and collecting loose grenade pins. It wasn't until she was fourteen she was able to hitch a ride on a boat to the U.S.A., and from there started making a name for herself. New York welcomed her as a philanthropist, living in the Leake and Watts Orphan House until she did her American Dream dance into her mid-twenties. What transpired after that made her into the powerhouse she was in the present. 2015 was shaping up to be a time of forging alliances in times of unnatural crises.

Terry's "condition" shook the very foundation of Jed's organization. Saigon was up the in the air at that point, but as far as anyone connected to them knew, it was still the endgame Jed put in place. And as for Manalapan, it was in a state of constant security. The employees at Blue Bulls-Eye were starting to rebel against Corporate's wishes, saying they were going too far and forcing them to quit. Business was dropping fast and most people didn't much care anymore, not even for employees like Jim, Lauren, and Marianne.

The corporate guards, Thaddeus and Connor tried keeping the peace with the new regulations passed down to them: constantly monitor team members throughout their shift, even when they go to the bathroom. They were taking "invasion of privacy" to a whole other level, forcing Marianne especially to take an extended leave of absence. She had a total of four visits to Cayla since coming back from New York, consisting on sitting by her bedside with a few choice words exchanged. It drove Marianne crazy, feeling so helpless making things better, but with James dead and Nick vanishing it drove a wedge between the sister bond they had. There was only one card left to play she thought; her boyfriend Damian.

Apart from her father and younger sister, Damian was the only other man in her life to keep her on task whenever things fell apart. It was towards the end of July when he decided to pay her a surprise visit. He was good like that, even at the Bulls-Eye keeping everybody on their toes with his goofball streak. Gotten a vivid picture of what happened with Mickey and after, somehow he knew the store was going to descend into something horrible; nothing on this scale though.

On a Saturday afternoon, both met up at the Panera Bread restaurant in Freehold with news that was going to set them up for the rest of their lives. You can take the Jersey out of the person, but you can't take the person out of Jersey; Illinois and what was cooking over there was the exception. Damian laid out printed copies of a job application that was labeled KaiWay Corporation. Interning there for a year, he negotiated with his higher-ups to get Marianne a job as well. KaiWay was an under the radar conglomerate that emerged in a big way in both the states and Japan. She herself wasn't too heavy on the anime side of the company. It only took a goofball to sway her mind.

"Holy shit, she spoke in amazement, you've actually broken through to them."

"I wasn't alone either." He told her. "Wesley Bordock, the CEO, practically strong armed the other board members to get you an internship. _This_ is real, Mare."

"I thought you said Wesley invested a huge stake in the company? He always was a "Jack of all trades" kinda guy."

Damian noticed a few patrons in business attire walking around the restaurant, and felt nervous all of a sudden. As she was looking through the documents, he leaned forward and whispered, "There was… a bacta tank incident that happened a few months back. I'm under NDA so I shouldn't even be telling you this. Wesley built KaiWay with a mission in mind."

"I know. I saw the news article online." She replied. "Some California lookin' girl with an unknown blood type caused an "accident" in one of the bacta chambers. Didn't she work as a Banker at one point?"

"Kari, I believe. Wes has been very secretive about her condition. He fought tirelessly to keep KaiWay from getting shut down. I saw it. I saw the things he can do, what _we_ can do to make a difference. This is your chance, babe; time to move out of this poison cesspool and onto greater things. It's all uphill from here." He expressed with enthusiasm, suddenly realizing her concern. "But you can't leave yet."

Marianne gave a heavy sigh and said, "It's Cayla. With Nick missing and James dead, she's been distant from everybody."

"Can ya blame her? Last time I was in New York was a contract job to support my ailing mother. I still can't believe orange gas can stir that big a shit storm with no one stepping up to them. And then you told me she spoke to some kind of ghost in that boarding house…?"

"Yeah, someone named "Jack" or something. Three weeks later… at least the scars on her face healed from that grenade blast. I'm gonna see her later today to see how she's doing."

"Want me to try and get her job with us? Wes is the kind of person who sees the working man as a worthy being. The benefits are good and the pay can help the both of us find a place…"

"… Unfortunately, I don't think that'll work. You know Cayla. Once her mind is set on something… she's like me sometimes; stubborn." She said drinking her iced green tea.

"Well, you let me know if she's interested." He assured her, taking out a metal cane. "I'll be in town for the whole week."

Looking at a man reaching 30 carrying a cane, she raised her left eyebrow and asked, "Seriously…?"

"What; I twisted my knee. I told you."

"How the hell did you twist your fricking knee?"

"Ha ha, I was making a sub and forgot the mustard. It was in that cabinet above the fridge? You know which one."

"Oh, the one I told you to use a ladder but never do 'cause you're in "denial"; short people problems?"

"Dude, I've been to the gym. So I missed a Leg Day or two, but my joints have gotten better!"

"You're 27 and using a cane."

"Most of the time, I feel 72. Next thing you know, I'll be needing sponge baths." He laughed with awkward filling the air between them. "And what about you; you like to think of yourself as a mermaid."

"Maybe I _was_ a mermaid in the past life, dumb-dumb." She spoke sarcastically, bopping him on his forehead.

One of the waitresses came by collecting dishes and told them, "Oh, for god's sake get a room!"

"He's reaching 30 and using a freaking cane!"

"This is 'Merica, damn it!" Damian said standing up. "If she wants to be a mermaid and me walkin' with a cane, we can. We are free to do so!"

"Don't strain your back now." She said before telling the waitress, "I apologize for his behavior. He's in a mid-life crisis at the moment, but that's none of my business." She said while sipping the rest of her tea.

Relationships don't get any more adorable than these two. Everything has changed, and in a society where haunted houses and deranged families try to kill you, you start to second guess between what is real and what isn't. Matt cut himself off from much of Blue Bulls-Eye as well as his personal life. It couldn't have been any more than a whiff, but why wasn't he possessed like Nick or even dead was beyond his understanding. Like the majority that weren't already fired, Matt took a leave of absence to get his mind together, carrying the grief of what came before. He had it all planned, he thought: the sniper rifle, tracking the motorcade to a gang beef under a train, having Corkscrew in his sights… it all plummeted within a matter of minutes.

He didn't know what was doing sparring against one Soul Leaper and getting kidnapped by the biggest beast of them all. What happened between then and feeling like a failure was hunkered down by whatever beer he consumed. After the first week, the nightmares were getting stronger. The meat smashing sounds etched in his brain as Jed struck down one swing after another. Matt was no stranger to a beating or two he got as a child, but sounds such as a sledgehammer kept him from sleeping a wink.

The second week, he put aside the drink and took a case of Blue Frost Gatorade as he drove to a gym in Manahawkin. It was a lengthy drive from Manalapan; Matt didn't mind. Like Mickey, the road helped him think of his next move. He reached a roadblock in his mind, not having the faintest idea on how or when to take the fight to every single Henderson still alive. The only comfort was the gym he went to on Saturday nights. It was private; knowing a buddy who owned the gym still had its privileges.

For the next two weeks, he took his repressed anger on the weights, burning off stress on the treadmill and punching away on a boxing bag. It was a rinse and repeat regiment he kept to until one thought crept in. Frederick Mayhew from the surplus store in Staten Island had a stack of missing person fliers near the cash register. He remembered seeing the name "Jackson Mayhew" on the top, detailing what he looked like and that his last known location was a local bike shop. As Matt's ID was being checked for the rifle purchase, Frederick mentioned him doing search parties for his grandson.

It was a ten person search around the five boroughs… then it was just him. Frederick refused to believe Jackson was kidnapped, or worse. Matt assumed the latter given all that was going on at the time. It was only a matter of time until questions would come a knocking, or in this case appearing in the gym without so much as a creak in the floor. Sweaty and a need to keep going, Matt turned around to find a worn out Josh standing before him. He had definitely seen better days.

"How the hell did you get in?" Matt asked him.

"You don't answer your phone." He replied as Matt confronted him again. "Front door was locked so I tried the back door."

"There is always a back door, wish that was the case for everything."

"Korin is worried about you, said you've closed yourself off without talking to anyone. It's been three whole weeks."

Matt suddenly stopped for a breather before saying, "She understands. Korin and I… I've just been so shaken up that the moment I say somethin' to another person, 'fraid I'll collapse again. We spoke two nights ago. I told her I was alright, said she didn't believe me. To be honest ah, her voice is the only thing that calms me down. I'm not ready to talk about it, Josh."

"You'll have to at some point." Josh made clear. "The store could shut down any day now."

"Like we haven't heard that before…"

"There was another gas canister over where the toddlers clothing is."

"You're shitting me…" Matt spoke in disbelief.

"Alyse and Kyle came across it a few nights ago. A huge frenzy broke out with all the corporate security guards rushing towards soft lines. You should've seen it. It was like a herd stampeding towards a cliff. It turned out to be a dud of some kind thank god, but… some local kid revealed himself and thought it was funny. Alyse didn't."

"What'd they do with the kid?"

"Voices were raised. I've never seen that much anger coming out of Alyse before. I wanted to intervene but the guards broke them up, and I was forced to make a hasty decision. However, she made the choice of firing herself."

"My god, he rubbed his head, you're telling me she left?"

"She said her piece and stormed out. On top of that and what happened at the corporate office, she couldn't take it anymore. I, personally, don't blame her. That orange gas turned a lot of our people ugly that night."

"Don't have to tell me." He said. "Compared to Staten, S.K. is small potatoes. Josh, I'm trying to get mentally prepared for the Hendersons' next move. They're out there. I gotta get back to it." Matt said, punching the bag again.

"… I know you do. I just need to know if Nick, James, and Cayla are alright. I'm not proud the way I sent you to watch over them. You know I'm here for you, right? You can always talk to me."

It was no secret to Matt that the meeting both Josh and Lisa had up at Corporate wasn't a pleasant one. He may not have been there, which thinking about it would have been a better scene to sit through than looking death in the face, but the truth was in the eyes. Josh couldn't bring himself to give details on what happened, just that the store was in more disarray than ever before. Josh stuck around the gym for another hour, not saying a word, just observing how a coping mechanism was being used. He usually kept an open mind on all the employees he worked with, even the seasonal ones.

Matt was different. Getting to know him, working with him, developing a mutual friendship over the six years he'd worked as Store Security, Josh came to respect the fact he wasn't like his own family. They were nothing compared to Mickey's upbringing, but Italian blood ran hot like Mt. Vesuvius on both sides. It could have been an easier life if his parents were culinary or trapeze artists. Things got quiet after an hour. Matt knew he would have to tell the truth to someone. After nearly pushing his body past its limits, he gulped a full Gatorade bottle and came out with it.

"Jed Henderson, the so-called maestro behind the gas… he taunted us, words only a bully would say but with his kind all around us they carried weight. And I mean 500 Soul Leapers boxing us outside the boarding house. I fought one, or evaded for a good stretch before it merged with another Leaper."

"Okay, he felt uncertain, when you say "merge"…"

"Their two souls collided and exploded orange goo over a fraction of Jed's kind. The shit I saw… you don't see that in the real world. Then, he paused as his hands started shaking, Jed took a sledgehammer to James. "You all exposed yourselves to us." He said. "The time to evolve is now." James is dead. Nick was… possessed-goddamn how do you make sense of this shit?!"

Matt jolted up from the bench. Josh called out, "I wasn't there with you guys when it happened."

"Josh, don't tell me I did all I could." He fired back. "Things are different now. _I'm_ different. I will find those bastards who took Nick and give 'em a fate worse than Soul Leaping. God, what was I thinking? He was in my sight. I could've… I could've taken the shot." He spoke with regret, sitting back on the bench. "To be honest, I dunno what to do. Shit, Mickey Henderson came from a fucked up gene pool."

"Listen to me, he said placing his hand on his shoulder, like I said I'm here for you. Those Hendersons will pay for what they did to James, but we'll do it together."

"… It's not much, but it's enough." He replied before looking up at him. "Thank you."

"No, I should be apologizing for sending you there. None of us ever wanted to be in their lifelong vendetta, but it's the hand we've been dealt. You're like a son to me, Matt. You, Cayla, Marianne, Kyle, even S.K., you're all like my family. Whatever you need, don't hesitate."

Matt in his security days had to pull himself together after some long, rough shifts at the store. Josh was one of the few people he could turn to for fatherly advice. Something had to be done to answer for the huge blows taken to the people in Manalapan. Whether the act was going to the police or handling the matter internally was most likely leaning towards the latter. That was when it clicked in his head on the allies he didn't even know he had: Lieutenant Adamo, Elliott Turner; people who have either heard a great deal about the gas or have seen it firsthand. He got out his phone to get things moving.

The only other object that moved at a nervous level was the heart of a Con Man. Sylvester had been getting surprise visits from different people concerning James. He had some notion to what was going on, but kept most of the facts to himself so he could give James's mother false assurance he was still up and about. As for other visitors, the frequent knocks on his front door and the hollow threats from two "wise guy" looking jerkoffs, an entitled mentality kicked in along with a loaded .22 Magnum. However when the door closed from the outside, his anxiety continued to play games with him.

Hadn't seen neither hide nor curly hair from Jimbo himself, it led him to believe whatever took place in New York didn't let him leave. Sitting in his man cave, he feared the next call or knock would be the FBI coming to dismantle his livelihood. For the 34th time Sylvester got out his cell to see if he would pick up this time. _"You've reached James. I can't reach the phone right now, but you know what to do… (beep)."_

"Christ, man, this is like the 35th time I called you, like some frickin' ex-girlfriend stalking you. James, you need to get your ass back to Jersey. I've been getting strangers, plus your mom coming to my house asking questions. You know how I get anxiety attacks? Look, if you're getting your beak wet up there, fuckin' A!" He said before taking a deep breath. "I'm worried, Jimbo. Three weeks without a word from you? We also need to talk about our "long-term investment", how we're gonna handle it. Just get home, man."

The longest time they haven't spoken to one another was before they met at the Menlo Park Mall, having dirt on each other unless they formed a partnership in getting the bat suit displays. After putting the phone down on his TV stand, five knocks were heard at his front door. They sounded different than his usual third degree heathens. Then again, anything can happen in 2015. He took another deep breath and went upstairs to confront who it was, only to be taken aback by the presence of a paler than snow girl with a look in her eyes only soldiers get coming home from a tour.

"Can I help you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Are you Sylvester?" Cayla asked.

"That depends on the nature of this visit. Who sent you?"

"I'm-I'm Cayla, I was a friend of James up until three weeks ago."

Raising his eyes, he recognized the name. "Cayla, that's right! James told me about you and someone named Nick, said you three was going to New York for some rookie investigating."

"If only…" She spoke with regret. "We need to talk."


	12. Chapter 12: No heroes or just cause

How do you tell someone who was murdered right in front of you? How does one even begin to churn out such news? Hearing the passing of loved ones was one thing, but seeing it happen as someone else gets possessed by a gas substance can be far-fetched, to say the least. The outcome could either knock you on your back or against a patented wall with a solitary door slamming home behind you. For the past three weeks, Krista kept to herself. She didn't want anything to do with human contact or working in the one place this mess started.

The very thought made her stomach tighten, barely kept any food down the entire time. Few people in her life like her grandmother, Marianne and a couple school friends helped keep her mindset sound, assuring her it would all work out somehow. That was the kick in the jewels in any given situation. Sitting around hoping the problem would fade into the infinite was never a mindset she kept. If there was any chance Nick could be saved, and by extension stopping the Henderson Family, it would be worth a try.

Don't let anyone tell you different. If staying out of danger is a definite solution, 8 times out of 10 you'd be lying to yourself. Best case scenario, an experienced authority remedies the problem and eradicates any traces leading to future terrors. Soul Leaping had "worst case" plastered all over New York City. News reports and online articles would state the same, tired story: It was all a conspiracy. The Henderson name is a myth; this generation's spook story to keep drug dealers from crapping where they ate.

The details were repetitive, but as Krista regained her mental strength the articles she read began forming a pattern. Every article containing mysterious events like the boarding house had another article in fine detail how the city smelled like peaches. There must have been over two dozen stories between each Henderson myth how a powerful aroma dressed the city in a somber mood. New York was never known for its "somber" reputation, though. The sources were off; some didn't have any to begin with.

Tracing over the alternate articles with keywords like "peaches", "maple syrup", "lavender", all deriving from key neighborhoods the Hendersons did business in. We all have to start somewhere, but her mind felt like it was past the point for rational journalism. Once she was ready to see Sylvester, her first step in understanding what she was dealing with carried all the way to his front door. Krista couldn't begin to fathom how James's family was going through. As much as she wanted to tell them what had happened, her heart expressed she didn't have all the facts yet.

Next thing she knew, a stressed out Sylvester gave her a brief tour of his house before heading downstairs into the decrepit solitude that was his man-cave. Suddenly, the fear washed away with a tide of numbness coating her entire body as she sat on a messy sofa. "Sorry about the mess." He said picking things up off the floor. "I go on a lot of business trips so I don't always have time to clean."

"Hope you don't mind me asking. Do you live alone?" She asked him.

"It's worked out so far. My family kicked me out a few years ago 'cause I didn't follow the business path they were on. Don't remember the last time we spoke. Tell me, what year is it again?" As he grabbed the Xbox controllers off the floor, he saw an exhausted Krista rubbing her eyes. Something was definitely weighing her down, he thought. "You want anything to drink? I think I got Mountain Dew somewhere."

"No… thanks." She politely declined. "Please, sit down."

The basement got real quiet, without so much as a car zooming by his house to compensate for the awkward silence. Walking over to a green stool he had resting in a corner, he sat in front of her and asked, "Do you know what happened to James?"

This was it, she thought. There was no point holding back when she said, "… James is dead. The three of us went to Stat…"

There were no words to accurately describe what Sly was feeling in that exact moment. The very warmth of his skin changed into a cold feeling that made his arm hairs stand up. His heart dropped to his lower stomach and couldn't put it in words on how to react. When she asked if he was feeling okay, Sly then raised one finger for her stop talking. Slowly rising from his stool with a stunned look on his face, he walked back upstairs with the door casually shutting behind him.

Was this a bad idea, she asked herself? Not even ten seconds later, the answer spoke in throwing furniture and incoherent ramblings through the basement walls. A cold sweat rushed down the left side of her neck. She looked around for anything to defend herself should he choose to take his anger out on his man-cave. That was when Krista got up and took a stroll around.

Still a bit a disconnected from what made sense in the world, she took her time when she stumbled upon a trash bin of crumpled up blueprints and Chick Fillet sandwich wraps. What lied in front of her however sparked an interest; a rough map of a comic book convention in Seattle. James wasn't the kind to brag about his risky escapades in the nerd community. Regardless of the details, she felt partly responsible for not thinking up an exit strategy. Going over the plan for the boarding house, escape was still in brainstorm. She shuddered at the mere thought of it, even weeks later. All of a sudden, she heard that same, familiar voice talking to her. If Casper the Friendly Ghost had a lost brother or a best friend… Jackson appeared in corporeal form.

 _"_ _I'll give your friend this much. In his own way, he lived on the edge. I've never been to a convention before."_

She had almost forgotten she was an amateur ghost whisperer. Closing her eyes and shook her head, "We've talked about this…"

 _"_ _You do realize it's okay to have an internal conversation? Terry had them all the time before he…"_ She responded in kind by giving him a tired, frustrated look. _"Krista, I'm doing my best here."_

"It's not my psyche you need to worry about, Jack." She made clear. "I keep asking if you know any way to take down the Hendersons. _You_ said you would guide me."

 _"…_ _I did. But you have to understand once you go after Jed's gas operation you won't come back the same. No one does. You'd already gotten your second taste of their horror."_

"Goddamn it, she blamed herself once more, we should've prepared better."

 _"_ _There you go again."_ Jackson told her. _"You and Matt barely escaped when the police stormed in. That's a win, Krista. You know as well Nick, Jed's movin' heaven and Earth to get to Saigon. That's the place I kept hearing about."_

"Yeah, I know about Saigon, but what's over there really?"

The upper level of the house went quiet as soon as the loud ramblings simmered down. She then looked up, "Kay, I think he stopped… Jackson?" Her eyes loved to play tricks on her, it seemed. She grabbed an old baseball bat hidden between a stack of undead novels and kept it hidden under the sofa when the basement door creaked open. She took deep breaths as Sly slowly stomped down the stairs.

The makings of a not-so gentle giant came from her right as he sat down on the stool. He inhaled deeply, tried to calm himself first before saying another word. The entire man-cave was plied with intense silence, compelling Krista to break it before Sly went, "Well… ain't that a steel toed boot to the family beads? Jimbo wanted out of the Comic Con-Man gig because he decided to get a real job. We were supposed to be one of those "ride or die" type friends. I shoulda gone with you guys as backup."

"You would have died too." She stared at the floor.

"Maybe… not that anyone would give two shits. I've spent half of my adult life pursuing my family's business from a different angle. James and I had a mutual respect for each other. Is his body still at that boarding house?"

"Sylvester, I…"

"It's for his mother." He made plainly. "She's been hounding me for three weeks and I didn't know what to tell her. Whatever you have to do to make this right, fucked up as it is, I can't help you."

"I don't blame you. The Hendersons took Nick. His older brothers have been givin' me a hard time, too. I _will_ make this right somehow."

"Just tell me where his body is. No matter what happens, I'll make sure his family gets the news."

Krista still shook at the thought of James. No country song or vacuum cleaner would be loud enough to drown out the impact of a sledgehammer. She remembered the smell of blood as it coated the metal red. The vivid image of his crushed skull nearly caused her to faint, but with what little willpower she had left, she suspected the body would still be at the boarding house. Most likely, it would be decomposed.

One could only hope his mother would want to cremate him. An unsettling excursion suddenly got penciled into Sly's schedule. "You should leave. I need time to prepare." He stood up with mind set to purpose. As soon as his back was turned to her he then asked, "Should I wear a Hazmat suit? Jimbo had a hidden love for Breaking Bad."

She saw and read how Soul Leaping was crippling New York City. It would take more than a Harlem gang and some ambitious businesswoman like Esmeralda to redress the city's fatal scars. It treaded ever so carefully in the Garden State, affecting key people with huge impacts on those around them. One can only wish for a miracle. There was no sense of time for Craig. It felt like a lifetime since he lashed out in Mickey's name unwillingly. The last thing he remembered was a fever dream that took hold of his senses when he was under heavy security being treated.

His eyes saw the dream clear as day; a utopia spiking of sapphire blue. It took many shapes, beams of magical energy surged overhead, and every waking moment was a fine line between an adventure and certain death. Whether it was the scar tissue the gas left behind or something else, the fever dream was like a ball of blue light. He wanted nothing more than to leave this plane and embrace whatever was on the other side. Scott was the first of three on Doctor "Eckstein's" list of patients that were exposed at the store.

While his calling derived from Stone Whales and an unknown destiny, Craig on the other hand sparked a greater interest. It took weeks, commuting between Manhattan and parts of Jersey to decipher his whereabouts. A name finally came up from a senior citizen who witnessed a heavily armed motorcade from the Verrazano Bridge: Winston Stick's Institute for the Hopeless. Not much was founded in Roger's perusal of the net, only that it was founded in the early 1900's and closed down in 2004 when a "heroic" patient wanted to expose the asylum for its heinous practices. Henrik was such a "hero", taken to Winston's in 2001 when he was involved in a serial killing conspiracy of a doll factory.

The details were especially horrific. It could be summed up as a Human Sex Doll manufacturer… using actual human parts to cut costs of Chinese made dolls. There was a location, geographical sightings of the victims; the list went on. Whoever was crazy enough to house Craig in Winston's… Roger had an edge to him, something he kept in check as he pulled into the abandoned parking lot of the Institute. The atmosphere was stuffy, remote as if Roger branched off the beaten path to somewhere no one would think to go.

A horror show if there ever was one; "Why would he be brought here?" He asked himself, grabbing his paperwork and walked towards the front entrance. The plot thickened as his sweaty palm turned the knob, surprised it wasn't rusted shut. The tainted windows six stories up didn't provide any comfort either. However, stepping inside was like entering an alternate reality.

The inside presented the illusion of an up to date hospital. The air conditioned embraced the sky blue walls and kissed Roger's skin. Viewing the place, "alternate reality" was all that came to mind. It was undoubtedly the place where a "hopeless" soul goes to when the medical community can't diagnose. Patients of schizophrenia and eerily silent types roamed the halls with hospital staff keeping the riff-raff behind the ground floor rooms.

It was all a far cry from what Roger was used to. Then again, treating a unique case like Mackenzie gave him the thick skin he needed to see what Winston's was all about. Shouldering his briefcase, he walked up to the front desk where a human shaped wet mop was keeping the books. He opened his mouth, "Name...?"

"Doctor Roger Eckstein, he introduced himself, I know this is an unexpected visit. This place wasn't easy to find."

That was when an uneasiness suddenly formed behind the desk. Roger had his reasons for finding the Institute, something he wasn't about to share with a skittish type. However, he kept a humility air about himself as the front desk simply retorted, "And...?"

"I'm here to see an old patient. If you could let your boss know..."

"Where's your green token?" He cut him off, quivering at the lip. "Ya can't ride the rides without one."

"A green token..."

"I'd forge you one if I could, but last time I did... a patient died. He was my "bodyguard" in this place, used to beat me in Monopoly... until he then beat me in everything."

Right then, Roger wondered about this man and what caused his mental faculties to brittle. After quickly checking his surroundings once more, the chatter kept to the background as he asked, "What is your name, son?"

"... Nathan, he hesitated as he nervously leaned forward and whispered, "You don't find us by chance, Doctor. Winston, the owner, he's in one of his moods. He goes by a three strike rule. Look, come back tomorrow with a green token. Winston's the boogeyman when he towers over you."

"Nathan, I can't do that." He spoke plainly. "The man I'm seeing is an old friend of mine. I don't know if he's here or even alive. Tell you what, you get Winston down here and I'll explain the situation."

Just as he was about to curse, he immediately stopped himself. Whitening his knuckles like he was suffering from a brain freeze he went, "I _can't_ lose this job, man. He goes by three strikes and a strict set of procedure. Ya think you can sway Winston?"

"One thing you need to know about me son... I've dealt with scarier boogymen. Call him."

If there is one hidden chink in a manager's armor, it's the ability to speak your mind. From there, it's a coin flip: whether your boss respects your tenacity or terminates your employment. Roger towed a fine line or two in his practice. Being an Oncologist, like any profession, was to make hair splitting decisions that turns into said coin flip. As he witnessed a nervous Nate contacting Winston, he gave a reassuring nod to make sure Nate wouldn't choke.

It was an intense seven seconds of the dial tone making its rounds… until a surly and disturbing voice cut through. "Winston, sir, I have a… Doctor Roger Eckstein. It's about the guy who was in that gas outbreak in Manalapan last month." He then took a deep breath before concluding, "He doesn't have a green token… sir?"

Another ten seconds went by with an eerie silence not only at reception, but the rest of the Institute. The background chatter came to a grinding halt with the Orderlies moving their patients into their respective rooms. When Nathan slowly dropped the phone from his shaky hand, suddenly startled from its impact, he quickly picked it up and placed it back on the receiver. The only person that kept his composure the whole time was Roger, trying to get Nathan's attention as he leaned back and said, "You shoulda gotten yourself a green token, pal. Now, we're both gonna get it."

Little did the mortal plane knew, "Roger" had an ace up his sleeve if the situation went south. A distant sound of an elevator was heard from the right hand side of the front desk. The ding went off as the doors opened to reveal a suit in the shape of a Football linebacker. His hair was shaven to a five o'clock shadow, beard bristling from various greys, and a pending stare that could be chalked up to either friendly or sexual. He walked over with his raven black loafers with a sense of authority. The man himself towered ever so slightly above Roger, giving off a smile that could make a sex offender soil himself. Winston turned his attention to a cowering Nathan and uttered, "18 months it's been… has it not, Nathaniel? You are still ranting about "green tokens."

"Sir, I took my prescribed meds 'fore I started today. I swear."

"A year and a half; thought you'd be over this delusion by now. It seems your meds are not strong enough." He stood in front Roger, interlocked his hands before Nathan, "I told you not to make friends outside the Institute. They fill your head with songbirds and mountain ridges, and you go off the deep end. This is strike two, Nathaniel. That's two times too many."

"I can't help it if I have a fever dream, sir. They tell me…"

"They tell you what you want to hear. In this instance, you're not in a fever dream. Today is Walter's birthday and you will not disrespect his legacy."

"I apologize, he pleaded immensely, I'll talk to Gus, get my head right."

"Wrong. Gustav was removed seven months ago. I've given you too much free reign around here. Your work ethic has been sloppy. Lars and the other orderlies will administer your meds in my office. 5:15 PM… _don't_ be late."

There was no snapping Nathan out of his fear induced episode. So much for instilling an ounce of courage, Roger thought. There was a time when that came easy to him later in his career. He stood his ground before Winston as he formally introduced himself, "Doctor Eckstein, please forgive me for that little performance. Sometimes the staff needs to be reeducated. Winston Burkhardt, he extended his hand, you must be proficient in finding Waldo."

Roger shook his hand with firm purpose, "If you know where to look…"

"Seems you've been looking in places you shouldn't be. Let's take a walk."

In that moment of reading the room and seeing Winston's character in plain view, he played along as he was given a tour around the Institute. The Orderlies that walked past him gave him a nod, even a few less strung out patients knew the path the boss would be walking. This is going to be one interesting experience, he felt. But what is experience if not gained through years of grit growing within the human condition? Soldiers, especially, go through similar tribulations on two separate battlefields: one overseas and back home.

Some get PTSD, others suffered with nightmares of fallen comrades. Jedidiah suffered both in the same place. It was a mystery how much time passed since the Boarding House attack. All he remembered was the grim imprint left on his face; the sheer sting of it. On occasion, he would get feverish nightmares of what the gas would show him. What happened to Terry… it was flung into the background for a vision he had more than once.

Saigon… the orange clouds overhead was all he saw. Impossible to move a muscle, Jed was pressed into the Earth as bullets flew like horizontal raindrops, causing both American and foreign souls to drop next to him. These barely fazed him. He'd seen the world through the eyes of many souls, both innocent and otherwise, that his current predicament was routine. Sun drunk and giving into the hell around him, the same vision played a different tune in the form of a dark, human silhouette in a soldier's uniform. The smell of copper bile wore the figure like a second skin, but what stuck out was a familiar voice calling out to Jed.

 _"_ _Son…"_

The echoing of a single word reached Jed's ears as he answered back, "Dad…?"

 _"_ _Son, wake up! Don't let this place be your tomb."_

"We're here, all of us. I'm going to save you."

 _"_ _This is my fault. I shipped out a man, came back wearin' a ghoul's face. You deserved better, Jedidiah."_

"Things will be better, dad. I know who created the gas. I can still save the Henderson name."

 _"_ _How… how can you wash away my name after four decades of it tainted?"_ He asked as he revealed himself as Lyle Henderson. _"I beg you, son, set your "family" free from our plight… my plight. Accept your fate and let God do the rest."_

The tempting offer was a brief moment of serenity he hadn't felt in a long time. Jed juggled back and forth, seeing the endgame through the filth. There were no heroes or just cause in this, but he understood why he divided his family. Bentley, Mo, Alana, Terry… their sense of normalcy was forever out of reach. And Holly, envisioning her distinct facial lines and friendly blue eyes, in that moment he'd give his right nut and liver if it meant going out on the open road with her.

So many lives ruined, manipulating them for his endgame. Just as he was about to "give in", Jed coughed up something awful. His vision returned to a lived in attic of sorts, hacking up fluid into a bucket. His insides felt jumbled, being confined to a pullout couch with nothing more than a gas convert watching him. The spitting image of his war torn father transferred onto the convert with judging eyes staring back.

"If I were you, I wouldn't move around too much." The convert told him. "Damn, I've seen old men tell war stories but not like what you've been through."

Half of Jed's face was covered in a black bandana. The sting from his missing eye played a rerun his head; the son lashing against the father. Anger, regret, a false sense of pride Terry did something for the family instead of himself; showed what he knew Jed thought. Meeting his eyes with a dark skinned individual, "You don't look like one of mine. Are you a Hellspawn?"

"Nah, he replied, I tend to stray from street beef, you know? My name's Rodney."

"Rodney, if you're not aligned with Harlem how did you bring me here?"

"You Hendersons have made a lot of connections both in New York and Jersey over the years. I'm a freelance contractor for an alias named "Red Globe."

"Nicknames are off-putting, Jed stated as he sat up, don't recall making an allegiance with Red Globe. My organization likes to be discreet… until we open our mouths in a given situation."

"500 Soul Leapers in one area? C'mon now…" Rodney spoke. "Even Red Globe isn't stupid enough to send in that kind of force to scare a few teenagers."

Jed was mentally constrained all of a sudden. A teenager's blood on the business end of a sledgehammer wouldn't round up to a happy ending, in any circumstance. He recalled a shadow in the shape of his mutated son venturing off after feasting on Quinn's body. Orange ghosts vibrated from converts in every direction, trying to contain the beast until a lightshow scoured all around Staten Island. The encounter went from sending a clear message to fighting off a small army of SWAT storming the Boarding House.

They were no pushovers, but it did bring up a suspicion about his eldest son, Bentley. Tasked in manipulating prying eyes from all outlets into the gas outbreak, Jed thought Bentley would be more attuned to keeping the public complacent. Even in his sickly condition, Jed didn't want to give in to the fact his eldest might be overthrowing him. Realistically, he wasn't in any position to take a stand.

"So what happens now, son?" Jed asked him.

"I was told within the first ten seconds I'd do what's necessary to keep you confined to that bed. But I can rest easy, seein' as how Red Globe taught me to take away your abilities."

His eyes widened looking at him, "You're bluffing…"

"You're welcome to prove me wrong, old man." Rodney called him out.

The attic itself didn't leave much to be desired. As a matter of fact, it didn't leave much at all for nostalgia. As spacious as it was for Jed to make a clean kill and escape, a stagnant air filled the room. It was all too simple: one door behind Rodney and no windows. He could dream up hundreds of possibilities what lied on the other side.

Recruiting gas converts Jed's way was a series of hit and runs. Some joined willingly by Henderson reputation while others threatened to blow up their tenement buildings to keep the gas out. Situations like these always came down to a coin flip, and this was no different. With Jed's legs wobbly standing up, he used his one good eye limping towards Rodney. Rodney retained his cool stature, as if he had lived through this scenario a thousand times before.

For a kid in his mid-twenties, he didn't scare easily. Once they were face-to-face, a split second decision played out. Jed raised his left hand ever so slightly as Rodney gripped the handle of a blade kept hidden in his back pocket. Before long, he untied the bandana covering half his face. The scar extended from his right brow down to his upper lip. The mere sight had Rodney take a step back. How he got from the Boarding House to wherever he was at the time was a mystery; the name "Red Globe" kept recurring in his head.

"Holy fuck…" Rodney reacted.

"Piece of advice: Don't ever have kids."

"That train came and went old man." He spoke with regret, opening the attic door. "No one's stopping you. We're still in Henderson territory."

Jed kept a cautious weight on his shoulders venturing down from the attic. It was a quaint abode. Contract killers and freelancers tend to live in motel rooms as well as cabins away from civilization. From where he stood, this place had both qualities in one. It was his business to know New York like the proper ingredients for Soul Leaping, but this place contained an elusive feel to it.

Making his way to the first floor of the three story house, every room presented itself like a home for runaways. If there was one thing New York had besides a homeless person on every corner, were the young runaways hiding in outhouses. Jed couldn't explain why, but the more he looked around the more familiar it felt. Did he recruit kids into his ranks as well? Did his right hand man Quinn do such a thing?

It was one million dollar question after another. Where was either Quinn or Mo, and why haven't they tried looking for him? Rallying 500 gas converts meant repeating the same rules for every anxious scrub: never convert a child into one of them. Jed spent his whole life training his mind not to feel regret. His human side called out from time to time.

The path for a scenario like this was neither clean nor always justified. Wherever he was, "regret" found a chink in his mental armor but never entering inside. It hovered a great deal when he saw a shrine of sorts in the living room. A desolate space; you could feel the history of those who came before it, like a cool rush making your arm hair stand up.

Barely standing before the shrine, it was a plasma screen sized collage of past runaways ranging from six years old to drafting age. He didn't recognize any of the faces; that was either good or his memory was worse for wear. In some twisted way, Jed wished Terry was one of those runaways. It would be better to live as a hungry boy than a bloodthirsty monster. However, the distinction nowadays is blurred. Regret closed in little by little, followed by Rodney's voice, "For a city with a million and one opportunities to live, it's no small thing. Shit… you can't even get a buttered roll without someone robbing you on the sidewalk."

"Did you help these kids?" Jed asked.

"A few months ago, a drifter brought these kids over to this place by bus. "This city has _forsaken_ them." He told me and my ex-girl once. "You two seem to have good heads on your shoulders. Watch out for them. I will come back with food." The whole situation was unexpected. My girl Mia inherited this place after her old man passed away. She had a rare Samaritan heart you don't see often, you know?"

"And now she's your ex…"

"It was pizza night. I was about to head out to Zarro's to pick up four dozen pizzas for the kids. When I came back… she took off."

"Did you ever see her again?"

Rodney bit his lip, "… All I _will_ say, is thank God New York is fighting back against y'all. If it weren't for Red Globe offerin' me a hand, this whole exchange would've ended in the attic."

"I need to see some people." Jed getting some of his energy back. "Believe me, son, my organization won't be around forever. I can promise you that."

"Like I said, he reiterated before spouting out, nearly half of your guys managed to survive Staten Island."

Careless strategy had a way of kicking your backside after the fact. He couldn't fathom how careless he was sending all his converts to the Boarding House. Even Quinn advised against such an idea, knowing Corkscrew wouldn't risk his own men in a firefight on sacred ground. Soul Leaping or not, Jed knew lasting five minutes with his second born would be risky. Something had to be done; Saigon wasn't going anywhere, but at the same time the mastermind behind the gas in the first place wasn't sticking around either. Call it a gut wrenching feeling. He needed more converts. Hell, he needed his family back.

"I do not know who you are. I'm sure this "Red Globe" will track me down while I get my affairs in order." He then turned and faced Rodney, "Either way, I wish you luck in the conflict to come."

"… I'm not the one who needs luck." Rodney revealed a mason jar filled with orange gas. "You can kill me and take back this curse, or take your chances out there."

Oh boy, the temptation presented before Jed was as strong as ever. It didn't matter if he'd lived vicariously through its affects for forty days or forty years; that was the rub for him. But standing on the precipice between inhaling his family's curse, and facing whatever was on the other side of the door provided a sense of clarity. It was a brief internal struggle he had with himself. It was like a tug on his torso, trying to reel him in.

Living in New York his entire life, it wouldn't take long for Jed to find the outhouse once again. Rodney had a trusting face, or at least a way he carried himself that he wouldn't get shot in the back the moment he stepped out. And before he knew it, the evening air greeted his lungs; more liberating than a crutch. It's amazing how the simple pleasures like free air can be taken for granted. Jed felt like he hadn't seen the world in a thousand years; the gas clouded his mind from such things.

However, his work was far from over. Soul Leaping would live as long as its creator does. It was time to bring the family together for one last gathering. To get to that point would be a tall order. Everyone, even his wife and youngest daughter had all scattered between the Big Apple, Garden State and who knew where else. Jed had gotten himself a good three blocks away from the outhouse when he inhaled deeply, "You are prey for the moment, Jed. Mo and Bentley would no doubt snuff out your hide and feed you to the sewer rats. Stay on the path…"

There are four different types of conflicts: psychological, physical, emotional, and in plain view. Matt didn't know where he'd fit in; maybe a slice of all four. And when there was conflict, there were coping mechanisms: therapy, exercising, drinking, and binge watching shows. Psychologically, he was stuck with a fork in the road; the kind that would lead to a good night's sleep. His anger issues derived from lack of sleep, something he didn't want to put his girl Kurin through.

Paradise was on the rocky side as well. Matt couldn't wipe out the image in his head on what happened to James. Human beings in their right mind would never unhear the sounds of meat and metal clashing. The man himself was raised on George Romero undead movies with a side of Bruce Willis action star to boot. Once you've seen movies like _Hills have Eyes_ , you think you can prepare for anything horrific.

It's not a cliché if it's happening to you. At least, that was the mindset Matt tried to have while researching further into the aftermath of the Boarding House. For once, a slip-up bled through the fan fiction theories of the net. A second battle _did_ in fact take place not too long after he and Krista made a break for it through the SWAT's thick smoke grenades. The body count was unclear, but according to news sources there was a glimmer of hope where the tide was turning.

Even with the media's manipulating facts, for once it was not done willingly. Convoluted details such as Corkscrew's operation, business ties to the criminal underworld, New York loosening the gas's noose with each passing day… an avid reader can put these together to see how deep Soul Leaping can go. If one, unnamed gas convert can wipe out the minds of witnesses, what Matt had in store would prove most difficult to pitch. How does one ask another to put their life on the line for something they can't fully comprehend? For three, whole weeks between having nightmares and dulling his world with whatever poison he had in his house, he kept it together for the most part.

One Friday night, he took a break by crashing a get-together in Red Bank. Matt thought seeing the world fail at life through red faced drama would amuse him. If not, this party had Grey Goose Vodka. Downing a few shots would make life bearable again, he felt. The Wall Street pub was your typical hangout spot with a saloon twist. You never knew who was going to waft through those wooden doors.

Matt sat at the bar by himself on his third shot when a jaded eyed, bartender came around with a keg of beer for an entourage of "ineligible" bachelors. Matt perceived them as bootlegged Ivy Leaguers, wearing worn out suits and belching out profanities at each other. A part of him blamed them for acting so carefree in their blissful ignorance, knowing what hell might unleash if Jed Henderson survived the onslaught. Keeping his focus on the next shot along with a burning question in his head, the grey bushy beard barman needed a distraction.

"You look like you got a lot on your mind." He poured into Matt's shot glass.

"Yeah… flyin' solo to a bar isn't exactly my M.O." Matt raised his glass and drank.

"Don't think I've seen you before." He replied when an eruption of laughter shook from the entourage. "Sometimes, flying solo can be the best remedy to keep all the bullshit at bay. I've sampled more than a few of my wares before those Harvard dropouts dropped in."

"It sounds like we're both having rough days."

"And yet… we get through it somehow." Matt stared intensely into his empty glass with a sense of urgency in his eyes, like he wanted to say something with the words glued on his tongue. "Kid, I can see you're angry about something. Spit it out."

"I'm not angry, just fuckin… can I ask you a question? If a decent human being wants to keep a real bastard, or bastards, from hurting other decent human beings, can he still be decent when it's all said and done?"

The bartender leaned forward, "Let me give you a reality check on the house, kid. There's no such thing as a "decent" human being. Everybody's an asshole, regardless of their fucking intentions. Only thing I'd tell you is if bastards plural want to do you and your own harm, then the game has already been set."

"I know what I have to do." Matt said.

"… No, you don't. Otherwise, you wouldn't be asking a cynic like me for advice. The entire world is filled with bastards. It's the people you gotta watch out for, especially in Jersey. Many are content with their need for spreading discontent towards others. It's the vile chain that extends and decays as time drags on. Anyone can turn your life to shit with a rumor or chilled silence."

One of the bachelors shouted from the sports side of the bar, "Hey, get us another round! Your boyfriend's not going anywhere!"

"I haven't gone out for like, six months." Matt told him. "As you get older, you start seeing why that's less of an issue."

"Amen. Unfortunately, I gotta keep the drunkards happy. If I were you, I'd trust my instincts on how to prevent bastards from hurting those I love."

"I'll keep that in mind." He acknowledged. "Thanks for the chat."

"Anytime, boss… always welcome to a sobering conversation. Good luck." He concluded, bringing a pitcher over to their table.

This past month came and went at a slow burn. Matt did whatever he could during that time to stay awake, but that wasn't always simple. He couldn't imagine what Krista was going through, hearing next to nothing from neither her nor Marianne for that matter. It was high time, he thought. No doubt they had been marked for death by the Hendersons; the facts didn't lie. From Craig being possessed to Josh sharing his spine chilling interrogation with "Mickey" after the incident, New Jersey was spiraling out of control.

6-6-16. Apart from the obvious he thought, Matt assumed that would be when Jed travels to the source of the gas. He would take the remnants of his converts there and hopefully become extinct, but then there was Corkscrew; the skill he possessed with close quarters combat dealt to both his men and the Hellspawns. Not being a soldier himself, that smooth transition breaking up the fight was something to be admired.

He wanted to learn it, have a fighting chance which led to other questions as to how to convince the others to be part of a suicide mission. As far as he knew, the only justified reason he had in his holster was the fact Nick was captured by Jed. That was when it clicked in his head. For the first time, drowning what he'd seen in alcohol opened up an opportunity for a firm first step to be established. Sitting at his barstool with the world spinning on around him, he got up and left a tip before heading out the door. Getting out his phone, he gave Josh a ring.

 _"_ _Hey, it's Josh. You know what to do… *beep*"_

"Josh, it's me. Hey man, when you get this I need you to call Jim's old friend, Adamo. Tell everyone still up and breathin' to meet me over by the Receiving lane at the back of the store tomorrow. Nick's still out there with those gassed out bastards. Let's find a way to bring him home."


	13. Chapter 13: A surprise visit

Winston kept his suspicions how Roger found the Institute to himself. As hopeless as it was to tune him out, it was fitting for him to know more from the towering figure. As they walked down the clandestine halls with orderlies scrubbing the floors, Winston would sometimes divert his attention to hearing a voice in the air; one only he could listen. He had an undying love for his friend, Walter. How does one turn away from a heartbreaking tale of paraplegia?

Walter was a privileged 32 year old man living in Atlantic City. His family derived from a 5.6 million dollar fortune in real estate and other shady dealings. This tidbit did little to make Walter happy. He would spend many weekends traveling to casinos in style with his father's high roller buddies; gamble by day, party by night. It has been said money can buy you happiness, and a mansion sized yacht to cruise in the Caribbean islands. Prior to his downfall, his carefree attitude didn't translate well to playing Blackjack.

Every time he would lose between $6-10,000 at the table, the consequences were psychologically scarring. Walter didn't have the physique of a fighter; even his agility wasn't enough to avoid the harsh lashings of Gucci belts. His father's friends and business partners; six, grey haired sharks would box him in a circle, beating him a good twenty times per person. By the time they were through, they would cool off with a brandy in one hand and exotic stripper on the other. A 5.6 million dollar fortune; you would think money lost at a casino would be of little significance to his family.

Walter lived an easy lifestyle with a gritty punishment as a reality check. He had no goals, no penny to call his own, just one life and one chance to do something with it. This was the part that got Winston a little emotional.

"Was being an Oncologist a life changing experience? You rarely hear rich folk having a really bad day. Botox injections, spoiled children, sex scandals; the media gets off on them, but never an endearing tale of a broken man and a struggling dancer named Meryl."

"You are right." Roger admitted. "I take it Walter's paraplegia was the cause of his father's rich friends beating him?"

"He never loved playing cards." Winston replied. "It was just something that was expected of him to keep the Gucci apes content. No… one Saturday he decided enough was enough. Walter put his brain to work and used the internet to learn Blackjack. It turned out, he had a photographic memory. He studied body language mostly. His first time taking the game seriously was psychologically breaking the other players. When it came time to double down, he already lost $6,000, but the moment of truth came when his hand equaled to 21. He kept up the momentum for five hours; won $900,000 that night. His father's friends were floored. "You did the right thing, Walt." One told him. "Now, I don't have to waste $400,000 buying a new belt."

"I only gambled once. I had to go to an Oncology conference in Las Vegas, lost $2,500 because I had too much to drink. Goddamn… my wife never let me live it down. But sometimes, you got to take a chance and see what happens."

"My grandfather gambled once, too." He told him. "He used to be a wizard playing Bridge. I guess I should have learned at a young age. I could use his guidance right now."

"So, what happened between Walter and Meryl?"

"Ah hah ha, Cadman Reyes…" Winston spoke with contempt. "He was one of those grey haired sharks, used to own Capitol for renewable energy. He sent Walt this raven black haired beauty. Jesus, the detail he described: plump, milky skin, striking blue eyes that could make a malnourished man jump like the Energizer bunny. The funny bastard made me jealous. Mentally, Walt was in the beginning stages of dissociative disorder. He kept asking himself if there was more to life than money and meeting his beating quota. Meryl was a blessing in disguise…"

Beautiful women can be seen wherever you go. What many people don't realize or choose not to accept is there are two types of beauty: inner and outer. In places such as Atlantic City and Las Vegas, the obvious was always spelled out on the fundamentals of outer beauty. Few can appear seeking more than a good lay. When they reached an elevator, the nostalgia left their interaction outside the doors closing behind them.

From there, it got real quiet as they descended into what Winston described as the Unique Cases Ward. Running an institution excluded from the rest of world can be taxing for one person, especially one with an uneasiness to him. Roger sensed it; the place they were about to enter had him shaking a bit. As soon as the elevator ding made its debut, the doors opened up to something out of a found footage movie. At first glance, it was a reflection of what the outside of the institute looked like.

There were no orderlies or security cameras to capture the dark and guessing nature of lost causes. Walking down the broken tiles with the smell of sulfur and sweat greeting them, Winston kept his composure as Roger kept his guard up. Roger only read one anecdote looking up the institute online; a left field document describing a certain ward that placed beasts in blood crusted tombs. Winston described it as the "Presidential Suite" for the ones beyond redemption. But why in all things sane would Craig be transported to such a place?

Did Mickey's gas canister send the wrong man off the rails? The meeting between him and Roger was by chance; a way to counteract Soul Leaping. Roger kept these questions in the back of his mind. Now that he was face to face with Craig's "tomb", his heart compelled him to complete the task he'd set out to do.

"Young Craig's journey to my neck of the woods was a bumpy one. I had to keep him in solitary away from the other patients at first. You see, since his outburst in Manalapan it made him weak. First shipped off to a Bayshore hospital than a psych ward in Newark; Julien Adamo cut through a lot of political noise to keep Craig from public exposure."

A bloody tomb if there ever was one. If Jackson Pollock were alive today, he would swear on his mother he painted the stone with his signature. The sulfur and sweat gave way to a new smell emanating from Craig as he sat in a dark corner. "This is _not_ how a man is supposed to live." Roger told himself. Winston kept his composure on the surface still, but dry mouth took hold of his throat seeing him for the first time since being dragged away from the others. He perceived himself as a practical sort, never really subjecting his orderlies to handle cases beyond redemption.

"This was never supposed to happen…" Roger closed his eyes in shame.

"Within the first couple weeks of his stay, Craig would ramble on about things that didn't make a whole lotta sense. He struck me as a cultured young man, spoke in two different languages even _I'm_ not familiar with."

"Language of the Shorja, he replied as Winston looked at him puzzled, it's a… branch of Sumerian. It's a language not spoken in a long time. Craig studied abroad for a time."

"He's quite a young man, then." He spoke with astonishment. "Before Meryl, Walt taught me a few new languages when he traveled to Madrid one summer."

"What would he say?" Roger asked curiously.

"Some kind of… cultist type chanting; was told he never joined a cult but spoke like he worshipped some entity. It went by the name "Ives."

"Ives…"

"Are you familiar with the name?"

Just as Roger opened his mouth, his eyes arrested him from revealing his true intentions. All it took was a bright light bulb, glowed a blue light all around Craig's cell. Sparking his curiosity still, "The blue light in the center…"

"He became increasingly hostile when exposed to bright light. LED lightbulbs was like sunburn on his skin. One of my orderlies thought it'd be "humorous" trapping him in a tanning bed his girlfriend sent over."

"The blue light keeps him calm?"

"It keeps him compliant. I personally see to these cases myself. Many things don't scare me, Doctor Eckstein. Only two things do: him and… what do you intend to do with him?"

"I've worked on a similar case before. I want to talk to him first, get a good read on where he is mentally."

"You have a deep voice with a majestic flair to it. It might just be the only thing to keep you alive. While you're down here, I'm going to run a background check on you. I still don't know how you found us, but today is Walter's birthday so… you're safe for now."

Out of nowhere, Winston gave him the cold shoulder as he walked back through the broken tiles to the elevator. The chills were still present with a howling wind moving past him. He tightened both his fists and called out, "One of my orderlies will greet you when you're back top side. We shall discuss your experience in my office. Oh, and Doctor… your profile better be top form and true to the letter! Not even Walter's ghost will save you if it's not."

If he only knew who he was talking to, Roger thought. The door to Craig's cell opened as the rusty hinges sang like a dying bird. The light was surprisingly comfortable, but a tension was still present between them. Over a thousand thoughts ran through Roger's mind, seeing the underlying tale of a sapphire bearing entity that served a once illuminating world. To see him in a dark hole such as this made him take pause, knowing his own underlying tale was nowhere near this decrepit.

Taking off his briefcase he went, "All this time, I've been searching for you. I found Zoran. He'll come to when he is ready." He took pause, finding his words. "It has been ages, old friend. I'm sorry for what has happened to you. This world… something the great mother glossed over in her teachings. It measures you in what it can take in both body and spirit."

"… What do you want?" Craig spoke in a broken tone. "Come to euthanize me…?"

"Far from it; you're not alone in this, Craig… or should I say "Culliver."

"Culliver, he pondered the name while dismissing it soon after, a name means little in this shithole. You're wasting your time, Doctor. I'm dying…"

"Not for long." He spoke sternly. "I won't have the Left Hand wasting away in some nuthouse. Damn it, between looking for the lost ones and the Henderson curse, I should have planned ahead."

"I still dream that night, you know. Throat's healed for the most part but… the things I said to Krista, to Daniela…"

"One thing I learned on _this_ planet is we're all sinners. Young Daniela is my next visit. Culliver, tell me if you heard of this phrase." Roger said as his eyes glow a subtle shade of yellow. "Hitasio Enferme Incantandum…"

It triggered Craig all of a sudden. These three words, unbeknownst to him, compelled him to turn around to see an all-too familiar aura that was alive a lifetime ago. Like a child exercising his curiosity, he crawled into the blue light. It shined and warmed his malnourished exterior, entranced by both glows. It was as if his pain vanished without warning. He welcomed it with piercing blue eyes staring back at yellow. "Now that's… fascinating; the Celestial Synaptic." He spoke with astonishment when he finally realized who Roger really was. "Roland? I remember you. I thought… I thought we were…."

"It puzzles me too, old friend." He friendly retorted. "Zoran is awake and so will Tavia. I brought something to help you." He took out a vial of raspberry colored serum. "Kikipsi; no one on our world believed it could have been done, not even Emilia."

"What is it?"

"… Salvation, he handed the vial over to him, drink. Whatever happens, stay the course. I'll join you soon."

Craig's alter ego took hold over his subconscious, and poured the serum into his mouth. A silky, smooth substance that ran down his throat like a waterfall, such inhibitors as fear and malnutrition vanished from his mind completely. The name "Kikipsi" was far removed from his lips he'd almost forgotten the taste of rejuvenation. This feeling did not last however. What started as a pulled muscle on his left side, the course immediately went into splitting the body in half.

His world blackened around him. All that was heard in the void was his own screaming, kept with it until the pain ceased from his core. Like a thunder strike, the splitting of his body continued until a huge chunk of him parted away. The "Craig" side of him was mute with darkness morphing like liquid into blue, neon shapes. It formed sketches, one of a village under a purple sun. Another took the form of a mountain peak with a stream of blue flowing from its tip.

Before long, Culliver's eyes feasted upon the same three words: _Hitasio Enferme Incantandum._ The world reintroduced a spire in the far distance; blue beams flowing above him. However unclear of where he was, a yellow light appeared three feet before him.

 _"_ _Culliver…"_ The light called out to him.

"Roland: one of many Yularins on this planet." He spoke with amazement. "A great arrogance washed over me a lifetime ago. It's slowly coming back to me. I was once the Left Hand of Emilia Apex."

"Like Zoran, you learn quickly." Roland replied as he showed his true self. "Welcome back to Daegon…"

In this day and age, ungodly creatures in the shapes of humans are more common now than ever before. Newark, N.J. was no exception to the grim truth. Heinous crimes such as rape and robbery were evident throughout the city. A 9-5er can't even walk to their car without getting mugged in the process. The crime rates were all over the place, but like the Big Apple, Newark doesn't do the same offense twice; not before dinnertime at least.

Before the Henderson family spread out and made their reputation known from the shadows, the city had a 25% crime rate. Being higher than the national average numbers, it held that title strong for several years. With each passing year however, the percentage dropped a peg or two. Burglaries were kept to a minimum, common theft reduced to a moot affair, but rape… this particular act was made an example of. However no one, not even dumpster divers could tell who was responsible. From 2010 onward, murder became the highest in Newark's borders with the police never finding any fingerprints.

One evening came like an otherworldly occurrence. High octane suspense and an itchy trigger finger sent a scared 25 year old man on the run from something he knew no one was prepared for. It came and went when a house party turned into a dirty brawl. Some things in Jersey never changed when it came to the power of "love." Love and revenge thrown in a blender can lead to a sour batch.

Lucas Howell knew he was marked for something gruesome after lying with his ex-girlfriend. The lights cut out at his friend's house party; a howling scream sent everyone running in a dozen different directions at once. For Lucas, his life flashed faster than any breasts could at Mardi Gras. The traffic leading out of the neighborhood was jam packed with red and blue flashers making some noise of their own. But then, even with the cops breaking the sound barrier the only noise he heard was that same howling scream.

It sent chills from his calves, all the way up his back. The adrenaline carried him a good two miles before tripping on a storm drain, scraping his wrist and spraining his knee. Lucas was surprised by a realization; was the revenge sex even worth it? Forcing himself on her was all it took to make the house tremble. Limping towards a rundown auto mechanic shop, a sudden screech tightened his body before collapsing through the front door glass.

As his adrenaline began to drop and blood poured out of his torso like a sauna, pain took hold of his mind and for a moment, didn't fear what was chasing him. Crawling on the newly swept concrete with the smell of engine oil in the air, his painful grunts were a crescendo to whatever or whoever lurked within. Just when you think you hit rock bottom, the delayed reaction hit him in this exact moment. Although Lucas didn't have much going for him in his life, he knew the choices he made would somehow end up as a cut up soul. It was one last hurrah for Angie; a Dominican girl with the golden ticket to Harvard Law.

This was going to be her way out; slingshot her way from Newark squalor to a New York apartment that was a few steps below a town loft. Bleeding against the shop's wall, thinking about Angie's future sent him over the edge. She had a hidden intelligence about her covered in street girl attitude. Lucas admired this, but at the same time he knew who he was. Working as a busboy at Andros Diner, he didn't see a promising future.

The entire shop had an unnatural silence to it, like a presence stood over him watching his carcass bleed out, not making a move just yet. That was when another door slammed open, nearly gave him a heart attack in the process. He spoke too soon; a presence was with him and carrying a titanium baseball bat for good measure.

"Jesus Christ, the stout mechanic gripped the bat, who the hell is _this_ kid?"

"… Ya gotta help me, boss." Lucas struggled to stay awake. "There's somethin' after me."

"And jumpin' through stain glass was your shortcut? Shit. Were you part of that riff raff two miles up the road?" He put the bat to his throat. "Don't lie to me boy."

"How did you…?"

"Kids and their Lady Goo-goo music; how the hell do you hear your alarm clocks after blasting crap all night? I had to call the police to shut y'all down."

"Look, can you get me a towel or something?" Lucas begged as the lights cut out. "Aw, fuck me…"

"Goddamn circuit breaker…"

"Keep your voice down. I thought those Hendersons moved on from Jersey."

"Those gassed freaks, he asked Lucas, thought they were all myths."

"I just wanna go home…"

The shop's owner, Rex perceived himself as a superstitious sort. Media surrounding the Hendersons and their connection to the orange gas never sat right with him. Although he kept to himself most of the time, water cooler talk of what happened in Staten Island connected the dots. He got Lucas on his feet as they made their way to his office, nearly forgetting his property was vandalized. He pulled a glock taped under his desk and asked Lucas, "Know how to use one of these?"

"You fucking serious, you _actually_ believe me?"

"After what happened at that boarding house in Staten, I'm not takin' any chances." He checked the gun. "Safety's off."

"Bullets won't kill… whatever the hell they are, man. You know how screwed I am?"

"You brought this on yourself, son." Rex stated. "We all have to live with the demons around us. Stay low and stay quiet, gonna sweep the place for anything unusual."

Knowing what Lucas knew of the Hendersons, it was going to take more than southern grit to last the night. Rumors spoke of an unheard of vigilante scouring around Newark and the outer territories, preventing heinous crimes from happening. "Oh god… let this all be a goddamn dream." He cried to himself, holding the glock with cutup hands. Rex being quick on his feet, he checked every lever, behind the four stripped cars in the middle of the shop, frantically looking above for anything out of his element.

Just like Lucas, the mere silence of it all unnerved him. When he made it back to the front of the shop, Rex was stunned at the shadowy silhouette in the shape of a tall beast. Its build was lean, and when it turned with glowing orange eyes meeting his brown ones, Rex dropped the bat on the ground. Something caught his eye as he moved slightly closer to the shadow; a tattoo of a motorcycle covered in thorns.

"He's here. You've done your homework on this boy." Rex spoke with conviction all of a sudden. "The house parties, his escape route, Angie… all of it. Don't make a mess. This shop's all I got left…"

The Soul Leaper took pause as Rex walked out of the shop with little to no regard what took place. He had the bearing of a man walking towards a firing squad; the beast repressed such a sight and took hold on the goal at hand. One can never get used to silence, especially the kind used in horror films. There was a time when Lucas used to laugh at the cheesiness behind them with his friends, but not this time. This was for real.

He knew it as well as his bowels making the sounds of a dying lion. Sweat and blood beaded on his face like bad acne, just barely gripping the glock together. Then, as the door creak open, one step revealed the image of a pale ghoulish foot. Lucas's body turned cold with no feeling left. His skipped breathing uttered three words only both of them would hear.

"Angie…. forgive me." Lucas's voice cracked.

The ungodly nature of Newark turned a blind eye to one of her sons as the ghoulish leaper tore into his flesh, sending shrieking screams that could be felt through every corner of the shop. "Justice" was slow; a bullet cut through the already broken sound barrier and into the leaper's left arm, leaving little to no effect on it. Justice… there was none left by the time the ghoul was through. Normally, when a rapist crossed a Henderson's path their eyes bore no regret to what they'd done. All in all, it was one more lowlife off the streets.

As one book closes a grizzly chapter, it opens to one of new beginnings. A radiant, orange sun dawned over Blue Bulls-Eye. Matt waited patiently in the back of the store for the others to show up. Going over the moralities of right and wrong, he still couldn't find a logical reason to go after the Hendersons. Other than rescuing Nick, research still didn't explain how to kill them. He recalled Julien Adamo participating in liberating the boarding house. He spoke as much during a conference call Matt had with both him and Jim listening in. It took some subtle begging and a reminder of the history Julien and Jim had, and it only went so far as a meeting to get the full story on what Matt and Krista saw.

Neither came from a police family, nor had training of any kind other than self-defense. Matt figured if they were going to have any chance killing off the gas, might as well as start with somebody with combat experience. He paced around the open space, pondering his encounter with the exploding gas convert. Pure luck he thought, escaping the blast. The only conclusion that kept coming up would be to cause a chain reaction.

All they would need to do is lure them to a place far from any innocent eyes to make it work. But that's all it was: pure luck and timing, even Matt knew neither would be enough to survive an onslaught. The side door leading to the outside docking bay opened as Krista made her way to the open space. She looked at the world with tiring eyes still, but had a readiness to do what needed to be done.

"Krista…" He greeted her as he jumped off the deck. "How've you been? You're looking a lot better."

"Don't remember the last time I ate a whole sandwich without throwing up." She smirked. "I just want to rescue Nick and put all this behind us. Is Julien here yet?"

"Should be here soon, he checked his watch, shit's gonna be dangerous from here on out. I haven't even told my family what happened in New York."

"My grandma found out… quite the earful she gave me." Krista said rubbing her eyes. "I was going to tell her but, how the hell do you tell someone gassed up ghouls kidnapped your boyfriend?"

"Are his brothers still looking for him?"

"The young one, Joe, he's keepin' them together, making sure they don't go to Staten Island or the Henderson birthplace in Soho."

"As long as they're still alive… can't imagine what Nick's going through. Christ, I still can't believe he got possessed by one of them."

"Yeah," She got chills running up her spine. "I try not to think about it."

The sound of a car came cruising down the side of the store. The familiarity of the car itself brought a resounding smile to Krista's face. Marianne's dark grey Honda Civic cruised into the shipping lane; the old girl still had it Krista thought. By "old girl" she internally meant the car itself. And along came her boyfriend Damian, looking a little worse for ware, wanting to help out on what was about to go down. When Marianne got out of the car to meet with the others, Krista ran to her as if she hadn't seen her in years.

"Holy shit Mare!" She spoke excitedly.

"Hey, she braced for the incoming hug, you seem to be in better spirits than last we spoke."

"I'm just glad I'm not talking to the frigging wall."

"… Or something else…" Marianne replied suspiciously.

"Yo Damian, Matt called out, glad you guys can make it all things considered."

"What happened to your eye man?" Krista asked him.

"Jersey has a way of holding a grudge." Damian pointed out. "Apparently, after the shit storm Nick's brothers gave you they came to _us_ to vent some more. Things got a bit outta control this past month."

"It feels a lot longer than that, though." Marianne pointed out. "I still can't get ahold of either Scott or Daniela since the incident. And don't get me started on Craig."

"Craig wasn't himself that night. You know that." Krista said.

"Fucking Mickey, you think you know someone…"

Matt then intervened, "Look, we're in way over our heads on this. The shit Krista and I saw with these "soul leapers", we shouldn't even be involving you two."

"Nick's like family to us." Damian acknowledged. "We want to do our part. And maybe you're right. This whole approach might be a one way trip…"

Marianne suddenly hit him upside his head, "Don't fucking jinx us! I'm still getting chills from what you told me about that girl escaping KaiWay Corp some time ago."

When it came to the retail life in the Blue, there was very little time to converse with your fellow co-workers. Each day felt more grueling than the last, but that was what alcohol was for. Krista being only 18, she didn't have the stomach to sample a glass of wine. It wasn't always true about bad things happening when worlds collide. In this case, all four hung out outside of work.

Either to drink away the dwindling pillars of humanity or college struggles, Krista and Marianne maintained a sisterly relationship not easily made in this day and age. As Matt gave them the rundown upon meeting Julien, leaves rustled behind the fence barricading the store from the busy traffic. There were lots of trees shielding what was on the other side. What came out caused the others to panic when two clanking sounds hit the pavement. Suddenly picking up what they were, Matt ordered the others to move a great distance away.

Krista caught the corner of her eye when two familiar canisters triggered what happened during the incident. It was as they feared; thick, orange smoke emitted from the canisters' nozzles and quickly into the atmosphere.

"Quick, Damian shouted, everyone in the car!"

"Dam, aw goddamn it!" Marianne screamed. "Come on!"

All four hoofed it towards the car when suddenly Damian's right hand was nearly twisted by a Jason Voorhees look-alike. His build was only half the size of the masked killer himself, but his grip tightened as he kicked Damian's abdomen and threw him a good three feet from the car. With the smoke holding the most sway, Marianne feared the worst as she lunged on top of the stranger, blacked out and cursing a Sailor's language. She dropped behind him and tried kicking one of his shins to subdue him for the moment. The stranger rejoiced but soon had the odds against him when Krista kneed him in the groin and pushed him away.

"You got Marianne?!" Matt asked her.

"Who the fuck is that guy?!" Damian feeling pissed off.

"Could be a gas covert…" Matt brought up. "Asshole must have been stalking us for weeks."

"Wait, Marianne inhaled the fumes, I don't smell anything. You guys smell anything?"

"The smoke doesn't have that peach scent." Krista told him. "The converts from Jed's group kinda smelled like engine oil, though."

Matt took a whiff and retorted, "I'm gonna find out what he knows. This bastard's _mine_."

Jersey conflict always found a way into people's lives. Matt was no exception. Was it fear or was his temperament all over the place? He couldn't make such distinctions when facing palpable odds. His first instinct was keeping the others safe. It didn't matter if the smoke smelled like peach, cotton candy or sulfur. Matt put his game face on and put his tae kwon do skills to work.

Even with the smoke surrounding the two their fists led to rough housing. The masked stranger had a few moves up his own sleeve. To the untrained eye, the situation was a losing one. This masked man had strength, the kind of enforcer a slender man shouldn't be messing with. Matt's torso was slammed on the pavement and soon lifted from behind by his jacket.

His anger had a track record for deciphering stressful situations. His martial arts instructor adapted to unique training sessions, one using your opponent's size against them. Struggling to break free from the man's death grip, Matt unzipped his jacket, slipping out and on his feet. This was new territory he thought; being exposed in a smokescreen had him racing against the clock.

The smoke began to dissipate. He went on the offensive by luring him where the smoke was at its thickest. The stranger tilted his head and accepted the opportunity for more of a challenge. It was only a cat nap's length, but Matt took a moment to collect himself as the stranger spoke through his gas mask with a Brooklyn accent.

"We know what you did on Bleecker Street; a bold venture, I'll admit. Ryan… Ryan Turner was the one you dealt with; a gerbil with a chip on his tail. Soul Leaping affected Ryan's mental condition."

Matt then spoke, "One of Corkscrew's converts took a friend of ours; Nick! Where the hell is he?"

"Corkscrew has the carrier's ear. He understands!" He expressed boldly. "I bring you to him and he can end this curse forever."

Time slowed down as Matt raised one eye and caught the man's imposing stature. Being light on his feet and without warning, he clutched at the mask's breathing apparatus and pulled it off. The stranger coughed profusely and threw hits at the dissipating smoke. "You're not in Staten anymore." He made clear to him, taking him by the neck. "You're in _my_ house now." With all his strength, he head butted the stranger onto the ground.

Letting out a loud groan, the orange smoke above him faded completely. This met with said slender stature lifting him with intent to head butt him once more. It didn't matter if the incident happened a month ago or ten years. What he saw in New York was a nightmare he didn't want to experience a third time. Julien saw a fire in his eyes to do what needed to be done… and that was the problem.

"Matt, that's enough!" Josh screamed running towards them.

Matt shook him, "Where did you take Nick? Fucking tell me!"

"You have to calm down, brother. I need you to listen to me." Josh pleaded. "It was tear gas, not Soul Leaping. This is Julien Adamo. Remember, Jim's old friend from the Manalapan Unit?"

"When you see Corkscrew, give him a message for me…"

The outside world was but a fleeting whisper to Matt as he tightened his grip around Julien's neck. No one, not even Josh saw him this pissed off. This was the kind of image you couldn't bear to look at in the mirror. Krista ran back into the fray, trying to calm him down in the process.

"Matt, she touched his right shoulder, come back to us. Julien was part of the SWAT team that raided the boarding house. Julien was the one who let us go. He wants to tell us why."

The whole time she spoke was as if another moved her lips and allowed the words to come out. Julien suspected in that moment Matt was finally calming down. Circulation slowly reached back towards his brain as the world rolled back into clear view. Before he knew it, Julien was on the ground again with Jim running past the others to help him out. Pretty soon, Damian and Marianne joined in and formed a circle around them, all looking at Matt as if a beast had been awoken.

"How did you do that?" His eyes widened.

"… I need to tell you something." She whispered.

"Christ almighty, Julien coughed still, for a breadstick you sure know how to knock a guy on his ass."

"Matt, you back with us buddy?" Damian asked.

"That shit was savage, didn't think you had it in you." Marianne said.

Jim pulled out a bottle of Poland Spring water and told him, "Julien Adamo. You always knew how to make an entrance."

"Yeah, he drank up the entire bottle, figured I'd one up that wedding reception schtick I pulled back in '02." He chuckled as Jim got him on his feet. "Did you tell 'em about me, Jimmy?"

"First, tell us why you thought attacking my people was a good idea?" Josh demanded. "Did you know about this, Jim?"

"We talked it over a T-bone steak and potato skins." Julien brought up. "Look, I transferred out of Manalapan eight months ago to be closer to my home in Brooklyn. The department over there was looking for experienced guys who can train quickly to be a member of SWAT. I remember these two; Matthew and Krista. Staten Island was my fourth op and let me tell ya… those Hendersons are damn near impossible to kill."

"News reports said over 257 bodies were found on the Boarding House grounds, covered in orange goo." Jim pointed out.

"Dead… or set aside; if Jed's right hand, Quinn, can transfer his soul into any being closest to him, no doubt he taught others the same technique."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Marianne shouted in disbelief. "You're telling us these bastards can't die?"

"Anyone can be killed, Mare." Damian told her. "It's just a manner of how it's done."

"Listen, I'm not the type to sugarcoat a damn thing." Julien made clear. "This whole mess… it affected all of us, even me. It's likely Jedidiah marked us for death."

"How can you be so sure?" Krista asked curiously.

Julien pulled out a flyer that had an old Bradlees Department Store logo on it.

"Let me make this clear. Not _one_ of you is prepared to take on a third of those gassed up pricks. I barely got outta that hell myself." He looked Matt dead in the eye. "That ferocity's gonna get you killed, kid. You can handle your own against a human mouth breather, but not a Henderson. Now, I came to you guys to give you a fighting chance. I assume you heard of the old Bradlees Department Store in Clifton, the one that got shut down in 1998?"

"They had good deals on computer games over there when I was a kid." Damian chimed in.

"I had to cross an ocean of red tape just to rent the place."

"Wait a minute. You're training us to be SWAT?" Damian asked confusingly.

"I'll be trainin' you to stay alive and on the frigging move." He handed out the flyer to be passed around. "There are about five routes you can take; thank God for Google Maps. I highly suggest you clear your schedules and coordinate your routes towards Clifton."

"Stop, stop, just stop for a second, Josh interjected, first you attack my people with tear gas, now you want to turn them us into soldiers? That takes years of training."

"No shit, he fired back, we don't have years, Josh. I've got no delusions of us becoming formidable within a year. We're not invincible."

"You're playing with their lives here! This store has just gotten back to normal routine."

"Julien, I've known you for a long time." Jim told him before falling into disbelief. "God, what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Once Julien gathered himself, he attempted to level with everybody.

"Look, none of us asked for this. Not you, not me, nor the ones who actually died by those fuckers. Like it or not, your people Krista and Matthew, they faced down King Leaper himself and got out alive. There's no other option here. We get low, we move to some other country, and they'll find us eventually. Is that how you wanna live? Mickey Henderson was just one scratch on the mental condition. It's us or them, plain and simple. I'm putting my life on the line too, but it's the right thing to do. What's it gonna be?"

There was no way looking at this situation from a logical standpoint. No matter how many theories, pros and cons you throw at it, these average co-workers got sucked into a conflict on the verge of a tipping point. There were six Henderson siblings with who knows how many gas converts. If it was to be anyone's last day on Earth, one thought crept into Marianne's mind especially was finding solace at the bottom of a wine bottle. Destructive tendencies would be a viable route for anyone caught in a supernatural war.

But this wasn't like the shows on TV. If you get killed on-screen, there was no last paycheck or a raging fan base to rally behind. This would be the biggest decision of their lives, even for Julien. There was no way in hell he'd step into the shark's mouth and not get chomped. A small part of him took it as a sign. There may be hope yet. And then there was still Nick.

Krista had a compelling need to tell everyone in that receiving lane they'd be throwing their lives away, and she would take on the family alone. Even with Jackson to keep her afloat, she retained a realistic viewpoint that being a one-person army was suicide in itself. And so it all came down to either leaving the country, or step into a losing battle with the blessing of a tired officer. The abandoned Bradlees in Clifton, N.J. became their next destination.


	14. Chapter 14: Cursed at Sea

Chapter 14

Cursed at Sea

A plethora of scents coated the greenhouse. It takes one with both patience and vigor to tend to the plants within; Kenzie however was tending to a different plant altogether. From wildflowers to growing green tomatoes, she fought tirelessly to revive the color the boarding house once had. The Henderson's once sacred sanctuary; brought low by Jed's obsession to avenge their father's name, twisted its inner workings to the point where it became a literal nightmare to live in. Too few tended the place way back when, with Kenzie, Mickey, Terry, Mo and Alana protecting it.

Terry developed an appreciation for the house's history. Its once Victorian majesty set it apart from any high place in the five boroughs. To the rest of the world, he was not only a rebellious sort but a creature of discovery. The Hendersons was never a family to stay in one place. It became one of the few advantages Soul Leaping had; trading favors for blood.

Back when Mo and Alana forsaken their family name in secret to serve overseas, Kenzie's long term exposure took a major toll on her. Surprising to herself the gas didn't atrophy her muscles or wear her down. "Staying busy keeps the demon within me at bay." She once said. Roger agreed during his stay with her. And with his positive light between doctor and patient, the boarding house turned into a refugee center for the past six years, committing to helping people of domestic abuse.

Out of the two siblings of the second Henderson generation, Kenzie kept to her father's tradition of using Out of Body experience to take hold of New York's human scum. She delegated a few of the more distant tasks of Manhattan and Coney Island territories to her sister-in-law Holly as on occasion she would travel to Coney Island with her youngest niece in tow. It was a complicated, yet fulfilling venture she took while coming to terms with her impending condition. All it took was one afternoon, one frightful realization no parent or loved one wanted to hear. Terry grew ill.

What started out as a headache grew into a subtle skin discoloration, causing him to lash out and curse incoherently at night. Kenzie hadn't heard from Roger in weeks. No doubt his wife suspected something was amiss. Terry had to be put under with an anesthetic she cooked up to keep him from clawing his skin off. It was the longest day in living memory.

Watching and cooking up remedies for skin disease, she hid from a terrible truth that cursed all Hendersons down to their very genetic code. It wasn't until early next morning Roger came by with a steel entrapped case. Terry was groggy with a compelling need to find a bathroom, reaching out for release. As for Roger appearing disheveled and unshaven, the life as an Oncologist and family man... were beyond his reach. His curiosity got the better of him, taking on a caretaker role for both of them.

Balancing a heavy conscience was something both Kenzie and Jed struggled with Soul Leaping, but Roger had an assurance about him. Even in his current state at the time, what lied inside the case would be the definitive first step in breaking the Henderson curse. Kikipsi berries: ruby red with a juicy allure unlike anything grown on this planet, converted into an aphrodisiac. It was her last hope to bring Terry back from the brink. As he rested in the greenhouse, Roger administered his remedy through the boy's nostrils.

Not even a minute, Kenzie was floored as the sultry red fumes flowed throughout his body, quickly bringing his skin color back to normal. The veins pulsing on his forehead calmed with a sigh of relief exhaled from his mouth. Filled with joy, she spoke his name as if he had been away for a long time. The only unfortunate thing was no one else was present, not even Alana. When he finally came to, his response echoed throughout every orifice of the greenhouse.

"I know who did this... to me."

"Steady now." She made clear as he coughed. "You've been through quite an ordeal. I think we made a medical breakthrough. Is there any way..."

Roger looked at her with weary eyes and nothing to keep him whole.

"I don't know why he wanted to help someone like me." He said. "Roland finally did it. He has more. When I find him again, I'll tell him about your family."

"Roger..."

"I will make things right with my wife and son. If Kikipsi berries can help Terry, I can cure my son's ear infections. Silver linings exist for a reason, after all. Who knows what else it can heal?"

"This may be the only thing we do right in this world. What my brother is doing isn't the answer. I won't let him bring down the younger siblings into his crusade."

Terry then uttered, "Bentley..."

"Who's Bentley?" Roger asked.

"Another lost child..."

There was nothing more freeing than dreaming to be elsewhere, especially when you're ill. From head to toe whether it's a fever or a severe food allergy, being plopped in a bed with nothing but solitude and your underwater thoughts. Back then, Terry would jot down on his notepad about what he was going through with his condition. It kept his mind from the problem without enduring it in that moment. It was a routinely lifestyle he was accustomed to.

He couldn't go back to school in Jersey, go to Southside with his friends, just 24/7 of observation and nonstop praying on Kenzie's part. In some strange way, it brought him closer to Mo and Alana when they returned home. He connected with them more than any other Henderson, even Mickey at times. There was a bond that couldn't be measured in words. It brought all three a measure of comfort and pain. They couldn't comprehend why Bentley would go to so much trouble in turning his siblings into monsters.

It was a convoluted memory Terry wanted to forget. The events that occurred during the boarding house attack made him feverish. It wasn't until a loud thump snapped him back; the cold, metal surface hugging his back. Slowly opening his eyes, for a second he saw a severed human arm dangling in front of him, only to find it was his own. He was human again.

How could it be, he thought trying to get his bearings? Recalling what Kenzie told him, once Soul Leaping takes hold of you, you don't come back to your human self. Then again, the family curse never stuck to one form. Mo was able to rally a group of people together at any given time, and all he knew about Alana's exposure was the result of orange goo exploding everywhere. Each person she touched went off like walking time bombs.

Sore and sweating from head to toe, Terry struggled to sit up from the cold metal on the ground. His own dangled arm hoisted and chained to the bed he was on, "Where the... the hell is this place?" It could have been anywhere at this point: Hell or Mo's motorcade. The entire room smelled of sea air and chili with nothing but a corner window with gray skies coming in. A shift in movement made him uneasy, but that was nothing compared to the sound of tumblers unlocking.

The door creaked open, revealing a man who had the bearings of a servant of the high seas. He entered the barrack with concern encased in his light brown eyes.

"Sleep well?" He asked Terry. "Days like these it's important to stay rested. Sorry about chaining you; safety hazard. Stowaways tend to abuse my hospitality; way of today's world, I guess. I left you some clothes next to your bed."

"Where am I?" Terry asked, still feeling groggy.

After unlocking his arm chain, he took a moment and said, "… Away, away from whatever you were trying to escape from. I found you naked and drowning in the east ocean, twenty miles outside the New York boroughs. Got a name?"

"Why…?" Terry asked suspiciously.

"In all my years as a fisherman, I learned a name means zilch. I love the sea. It's one of the few things I can still love in this world. Leroy Palmer: Captain of this once forsaken vessel."

"What's she called?"

"The Mira Triplet, he spoke with a certain weight behind the name, I say "hello" to her on the main deck every day before I drop the net into the ocean; long story. You must be hungry, all things considered."

The ship rocked to the side a bit, leaving Terry that uneasy feeling again in his stomach.

"Eugh, I've never been on a ship before…"

"You'll get used to it after a while." Leroy assured him. "It takes time and patience to grow sea legs. It took me nearly 36 years to like crab and learn to be one with the sea."

"You shouldn't have rescued me." He replied urgently. "People I know will be looking for me."

"Son, I won't pretend to know how you ended up adrift on my doorstep. You needed help and wasn't gonna let a kid drown. Soon as you're able, come to the mess hall. Follow the chili smell."

Something was definitely off; Terry felt it. It wasn't the sea air or the old man's Samaritan hospitality. As far as he was concerned, they were still in New York waters. Any of his siblings could be out looking for him; Bentley most of all. It was a mantra he remembered when he was younger, how his love for horror movies died when the orange gas closed in on him. "You're the Henderson Spear, our first line of defense against the boogeyman's funhouse." He'd say to Terry.

Day after day, it was the same thing. And since the family rift, Terry went on 12 step recuperation with Aunt Kenzie, never truly washing out the stain the eldest left behind. His legs felt like jell-0 standing up; the cold metal floor was a reminder he was still human. Once he got his footing, Terry turned his nose left of the barrack to follow the pungent smell of hamburger and trout. He strolled slowly, making his way around the boat until he found an opening to the upper deck.

The light gray clouds met with his strained eyes. Where was he heading, and will that destination be kind? So much took place over the course of his young life he never really stopped to take it all in. The sea air surprisingly welcomed his senses in a way he rarely felt; peaceful. In that moment, it brought back memories of Mo and Alana taking him to the gun range and going out for chili dogs after.

It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to some families, connecting with certain siblings more than others, but Terry always felt being with those two made sense somehow. A chill of loneliness streamed down his shoulders, nearly brought him on all fours. On the outside he was human, but inside brewed darkness he fought to keep caged. Leroy saw the young boy's guilt from the back of his head. He winced at the sight, but the aroma of hamburger and spices kept his spirits lifted and stomach growling.

"Normally, I don't fish in this weather. I'm more of a mid-morning sun fisherman, helps to see what you're reelin' in." He told Terry as he stared at the ground. "Chili's getting cold inside. I don't know about you, but "warm" chili is where I toe the line."

Leroy helped him on his feet with the sound of a bone cracking like muffled celery. Weather in the fall usually did a number on his joints, knowing a storm was on the way. Walking inside the mess hall, the sound of chili boiling in the pot and mason jars clanked together with peach tea inside. His joints settled as he filled two bowls; Terry's mouth watered at the sight of red beans and bacon bits. For some reason however, something held him back. Why did the old man fish him out of the water? Was he even aware of his messed up family?

"Ah, there's nothing like a bowl of heaven to get your motor runnin'." He took his spoon and put it in the chili. "Go on. You need to eat."

Tempting as it was to stuff his face, Terry learned from Mo to never take kindness at face value. The same was applied to self-defense. As long you don't throw the first punch, the tables won't be turned on you. He looked up and said, "You first."

"You don't trust me?" He asked suspiciously.

"I've been poisoned before. I'm not taking any chances."

"Smart, he acknowledged as he savored his spoonful, mmm meat, red beans, peppers, and spices: paradise in a bowl. Suppose you want me to test the peach tea as well?"

"Nothing personal…" He replied tasting the chili.

"You're cautious. I can respect that." He popped open the top and took a swig. "Did I pass the trust exercise?"

"… Thank you. It's been a while since I had hot food."

"I wasn't gonna leave you like that. I got enough bad karma as it is."

"So, how long have you been a fisherman?"

"Changed professions, used to be a horse breeder down in South Carolina back in the mid 60's. Thoroughbreds, Mustangs, even adopted a Morgan bred named Reza. He ah… I left South Carolina in '77 to pursue a career in Education. It brought me to Manhattan and everything changed after that."

"Wow, that's quite a leap." Terry replied in disbelief.

"It was. So what's your story?"

"I'd rather not…"

"A mystery man, he said trying to get a read on him, not too many of those anymore. All I know is you've been through an ordeal. I can see it in your face."

"As do you… my family's not exactly normal. In fact, a part of me doesn't want to see them again."

"I'd do _anything_ to see my Mira again." Leroy passionately spoke. "I don't mean to preach. I was brought up to be a church goin' man; my father insisted on it. He insisted on a lot of things, said the Lord above will look after us. Then one summer, a heatwave hit S.C. in the worst way possible.

I couldn't have been any older than you. Dad broke out the pitch forks when a few local neighbors went rabid on us. The farm I was on had some of the most beautiful steeds ever blessed on green pastures. One of the neighbors, Dave Albany, wanted to buy a Thoroughbred from us for his daughter's eighth birthday. Dad was heavily reluctant on the offer, knowing Albany's reputation for "losing" his chicken flock 'cause they made too much noise.

The Thoroughbred's name was Marcy. Beautiful Khaleesi Sequoia, mane was as shiny as a copper penny. She was friendly, too. Then, Marcy was stolen in the middle of the night and when that heatwave came the next day that was it. Dad refused to listen to reason, got smacked so hard I got a busted lip out of the deal."

"What happened to her?"

"It's the same thing that happens to all of us, natural or not." He spoke with regret. "Albany hated my father for being a possessive son of a bitch. He was a lot of things, my old man. There was no rhyme or puzzle to solve about it. It was just the way he was. South Carolina is a nice place to live, but it's not for everyone. My family came undone in that heatwave. Shots were fired and my old man was sent to prison."

"I never rode a horse." Terry brought up. "My mom took me and my older brothers on road trips on the weekends, see the country. Sometimes, I feel like I'm two different species. My dad was possessive, too."

"Not all families are perfect, son." Leroy said, chomping on hamburger meat. "Obviously we just met, but you look like a respectful young man. But yeah, one can lose himself if his world is sliced open."

Terry slightly moved his bowl to the side, "Can I ask you something?"

"It's okay. You don't have to call me "Captain." He joked.

"No, it's uh… I was wondering if I can stay for a few days. I've never been on a boat either, but I can pull my weight around here, learn how to fish, and keep the boat clean and stuff."

Leroy took a moment to ponder his request, scratching his chest as he looked around the mess hall.

"Tell you what. I don't go ashore unless it's to resupply. We're still in New York waters so I assume you live here?" He asked as Terry nodded. "Let's try this again. The friends I once had called me "Lee."

"Terry… Terry Matthews." He replied.

"Well Terry, I'll find something for you to help me around the boat. Maybe I'll teach you how to net a school of fish. I can show you where in the ocean the shrimp are the tastiest. How's that sound?"

For the first time in the longest time, a semblance of normalcy took hold in the mess hall between the captain and the newly appointed first mate. Terry kept a sense of urgency in the back of his mind, still believing one or all his siblings will come for him. The life he had as a rebellious teenager in South Side felt like a chunk ripped out of his body. He still felt human for the time being; the spicy nature of the chili lifted his spirits. Neither one knew what the next few days were going to bring, but one thing was for certain.

Terry owed him for saving his life, and yet a leering guilt hovered over. Chalking it up to when he was his "other" side, the guilt loosened its hold on him and went away. The next few days went exactly as Leroy put it. He taught him the fundamentals of maintaining the boat's upkeep by scrubbing both the bow and stern of the ship, split everything they caught from trout to the supposedly "tasty" shrimp. Terry thought he knew what food poisoning was first hand.

Both him and the one latrine on the boat got along famously for about a week. Then, there was going ashore for fresh supplies. The effects of the gas altered his physical appearance. Luckily, the two ports they docked were nowhere near the boroughs or the Soho neighborhood. If there was one thing he learned about the city was how vulgar and passionate it was.

Never truly seeing himself as a New Yorker, he never enjoyed the noise. It was astounding how you can gain a whole new perspective when traveling with a friend. In some cases, the Big Apple was just like Los Angeles; started from having no money to becoming a household name. Leroy's name was quite popular among the fishing shops they went to; one called the Dream Fishing Tackle in Brooklyn. Anybody who was a creature of the high seas ventured there for a new fishing poll, stout bait, and good conversation with the owner, Travis.

It took a few trips to avoid looking over his shoulder every twenty-six seconds, but Terry was finally getting the hang of being a kid again. It almost made him forget where he came from. The trips to shore were few and far between, mostly because since they met Leroy wanted to get back in touch with the educator in him. Being a fisherman was like finding his calling in life, he told Terry. A pivotal situation in his life propelled him to finding it at a great cost.

And then there was the one condition every teenager despised. You'd think it's waking up when it's still dark outside to get ready for school; quite the contrary. Nope, it was homework. Being a vessel of public activities, one of its drawbacks for him was writing book reports. He couldn't go out on the road, let alone hit the arcades at Seaside Heights without writing a 12 page report on a historical figure.

As luck would have it, being an educator and the only authority on his boat, Leroy made a pact with him for so long as he stays on as his first mate, he would help Terry better understand how to tackle the format of a book report. The last one he had was a history telling of the Third Servile War during Roman times. Leroy mostly took an interest in the violent ambiguous time in Norse Mythology. This might work out after all, he thought. Teaching a bunch of high school kids was like performing _Hamlet_ in his history class.

The mundane effects of Folgers coffee got him through the day, but this was different. No migraine or a sea of red F's on papers would be seen in Terry's future. Seeing him talk about his days as a teacher almost enticed him to go back, to leave the sea behind altogether. As much as both loved the city however, neither was blind to its sadistic nature. Both had different perspectives on the matter, one Terry was reluctant to share still.

November 2, 2015 was a date circled on Leroy's calendar in his sleeping quarters; Mira dwelled in his mind the most this day. It was a windy Tuesday morning that didn't treat Leroy's leg joints with mercy. Was a storm on the horizon? Either way, both ship mates put on their warmest garbs as they took a cab into the city. Terry's apprehension rose as they had gotten closer to Queens, knowing it was Quinn's neighborhood before joining up Jed's cause.

He had a tendency of traveling through Queens from time to time. Terry hunkered down in his coat the entire ride over. Before long, they reached a neighborhood where houses from one end of the block to the next were Siamese made; all bunched up next to each other.

"Keep the change." Leroy told the driver, handing him the money.

"You just gave that guy 200 bucks." Terry told him.

"People argue and curse expense on the streets with other cab drivers. Today's important to me, no room for haggling."

"So, what're we doing here?"

Leroy gripped an old, leathery book in his hand, "This was Mira's house. We got married in the backyard; small affair. We couldn't afford a church at the time; too many riots in the streets. A neighborhood friend of ours paid off the difference and it's used as a place of remembrance."

"… I'm sorry." Terry spoke with regret.

"Save it, son." He replied taking a deep breath. "Time to meet the wife…"

Leroy didn't talk about the neighborhood friend who kept with the house's upkeep, but whoever it was made sure the nostalgia stayed indoors like lavender air freshener. A rush of euphoria nearly took Leroy's breath away; Mira was a huge Dean Martin fan. Posters of him neatly placed in both the living room and one in the kitchen, a vintage TV, color tints of green and white along every wall in the house, and then there was the upstairs bedroom. In this day and age, not even cemeteries are sacred anymore. Flowers dry up, people loitering, tombstones scratched out and abandoned; this was not something Leroy was prepared for.

The back and forth after she passed was one man against twelve, debating whether to bury or cremate her. Mira's family wanted to bury her at the Calvary Cemetery in Maspeth, but Leroy already knew she wanted to be cremated. The "joys" of family politics; got to love the coffee table debates on funeral expense as well. In confidence, Mira left it to him where he wanted to put her ashes, but her family insisted she'd be buried along with her great-grandfather. Looking around the room, a sense of déjà vu struck Terry.

Along with his own, Alana and Mickey kept journals about walking the fine line between maintaining their humanity, and becoming what they feared inside them. As he stepped outside the bedroom and waited for Leroy, Terry felt the warmth of his body vanish. In that moment, he prayed harshly that it was his stomach crying out for the bathroom. His tone of voice went for a gnarly, gurgling sound as gravity dropped him on his knees. Body tensed and eyesight slowly changing color, his mind snapped him forward and seizing on the floor.

It brought him back from seeing orange to the mangled sight of a gas convert. Smoke and gunfire rained from every direction, dripping orange and red blood on the ground, the petrified growls released the corpse from his ghoulish grip. His "other side" came forth from the boarding house, knowing it was not long after he left his mark on Jed's face. The world became an ocean of orange and red as he slaughtered anyone in his way. It was coming back to him; that compelling need to finish the job.

What took place on the house's ruins became a battle of man versus demons. Jed was lost in the ether of his own making; his converts clawed and struggled to survive. Quinn test drove his new human vessel, younger and more versatile than the last. Terry couldn't recall the last time he morphed in his ghoulish form. The one voice that kept him relatively sane throughout his drawn out change left him forever.

That was until a weary Mo appeared; the ghoulish hellfire rained around him. Like a ring leader to a lion, he guided him away from the blood bath. Terry bellowed out the whole time until Mo found a hiding spot in the broken down greenhouse. Dead plants and the smell of rotten eggs filled the air in this place. Their Aunt Kenzie would've turned over her grave if she saw what became of her sanctuary.

"In here, Mo pointed to an open space that blended with Terry's ghoulish skin, just a little further, T. Stay with me…"

"Mo…" Terry cried out limping alongside him.

"The rotten eggs will keep 'em away, but not for long." Mo said trying to catch his breath. "What a goddamn mess."

"… What's he _done_ to me; why did you let him do this to me?!"

Every time Mo looked his way, his heart skipped a beat. It was one thing when Jed wanted to use the gas to liquidate the bile of the Big Apple. Bentley was more like Jed in his prime, crossing lines so long as his goal was reached. Mo noticed a gash on Terry's right thigh and said, "I don't know, kid. But we'll make it right somehow. I'll keep you alive, should've been doin' that all along. The old man's losing his touch; the hell was he thinking bringing everybody along?"

"You and Lana abandoned me!" He shouted.

"That's why I'm here for you now. I know it hurts, but you _gotta_ …

Terry then stood up and shrieked, "LOOK AT ME!"

Both knew in that moment, in the middle of everything that transpired, Mo carried a heavy secret. Most soldiers who return home keep secrets, nightmares that would haunt their loved ones. Regardless of his upbringing, even now, he still believed he would save his little brother from their father's curse. His frustration and struggle swirled around in his mind, driving him to the point of tears. Alana was better at breaking bad news.

"Do you remember the last horror movie we saw before things fell apart? Lana kept a secret stash of _Friday the 13_ _th_ DVDs at her house. She wasn't home, then, said she wanted to try a "girl's night out" gig with a few of the army wives. I suggested we'd watch _Alien_ again, you remember that? But you had a better idea."

"What is this…?" Terry puzzled.

"Remembering what it means to be human, Mo stated, I always did have a shitty sense of timing. It's easy to forget the good old days when _this_ is all we have now. There are so many things I wanna tell you."

"…I wanted to break in, steal the movies, and watch them on her flat screen."

"Only it wasn't a flat screen, not a working one anyway." Both quietly chuckled. "I never trusted flea markets; goddamn junk sold at retail prices. When you got through the side window into the kitchen, I remembered waiting at the front door for like, five minutes? I turned the knob and saw a face I thought I'd never see again."

Terry's glossy orange eyes widened, "Bentley… that _bastard_ did this to me!"

"Father paid more attention to him than any of us." He replied as the greenhouse's foundation shook from tremors. "He's out there somewhere. T, you need to get yourself out."

"Out, without you or Mickey… or Juniper?"

"Mom's looking out for her. This is not going to stop. _You_ need to look out for you." Mo said as he pulled out a cylinder with red fluid inside. "This is all that's left. Drink it. You'll be your kid self in no time."

"She said… the effects… are temporary."

"… They are. One way or another, I won't let Bentley take you away. This is my penance to you, to Lana. We'll see each other again when all this is over."

There was still something Mo wasn't telling him. The fluid from the kikipsi berries masked his scent from the other converts. He kept repeating the same words in his head like a mantra, "I'll rip 'em inside out." A lifetime ago, if Terry ever said that out of emotion he would regret it later on. He knew in his heart he wasn't a killer.

That fine line turned to a single guitar string wound to the point of snapping. It would send him to a darkness no one would crawl back from. Before he knew it, his jadedly orange view blurred back to his natural sight with Leroy looking above him.

"Terry, kid you still there?" He noticed his pale skin and sweat all over. "Jesus, you're burnin' up again."

"Your fish stew… still not a fan." He replied clutching his stomach.

"Hang on, I'll find you some Pepto Bismal."

Did he know? Any sane man in his position would have gotten up and ran away before having his face chewed off. That was the one question lurking in the back of his head. Did he know of his condition, Soul Leaping, all of it? A huge part of him wanted to believe he had no idea; just chalk it up to food poisoning.

Leroy rushed back with a half bottle of the famous pink stuff and gave it to Terry to coax his stomach. He downed every gulp like a thirsty traveler in the desert. With drops of medicine dripping from his lips, he took a moment to regain the rest of his senses.

"Yeah… that fish stew is more for me than anyone else. My digestive tract isn't what it used to be. You boldly wanted to try it, though."

"Sorry I ruined your moment of silence. If I may ask, how is Mira?"

Leroy hesitated before replying, "She's peaceful. I'd like to keep thinking that way. This house used to be a place for gang members to squat in. I couldn't let myself witness the wrong that took place here over the years. Mira's neighborhood friend did a great deal to restore this place back to a livable home. Come on, I'll take you back to the boat. You can rest there."

It had been five weeks, felt longer than that in Terry's mind. Seeing Mo in his fever dream didn't spark any hope dormant inside him. He had a bad feeling that loomed over his head still. Seeing the lives he took, the dark paths his family ventured after the rift, not one was ever sorry or tried to make peace. Before long, he would have to tell Leroy who he really was. His teenage self couldn't take the guilt anymore.

It kept him awake the entire cab ride back to the harbor. As soon as he stepped onto the boat, Terry immediately wanted to speak with him, but Leroy wouldn't have it. "I know we do. Come to the Mess Hall in an hour. We'll talk then…" He had that look in his eye. Maybe he _did_ know about Terry's other side.

Waiting in his sleep barracks for an hour felt like an eternity. According to Alana's experience working undercover overseas, an hour or even ten minutes can feel like forever, especially if waiting for a firing squad. He looked at his hands and was relieved claws weren't sticking out. Aunt Kenzie wasn't boasting about the berry's longevity, which clicked in his mind how he lost it at sea. No extra minute was spared as Terry's body numbed and took a slow stroll towards the Mess Hall. Trying to compose how he wanted to tell Leroy, the facts jumped and hid inside his brain and couldn't make sense of it all.

The Mess Hall was cleaner than usual. Pots and mason jars were hand scrubbed and placed neatly on the counter. For a moment he felt he was in another place. Leroy made it his mission to keep this part of the boat filled with various scents. All he could smell now was hints of soap and the sea air outside, but the one thing that grabbed his attention above all else was a pale, cringing old man with a familiar vial on the center of his dining table. Terry's heart dropped at the very sight.

"How're ya feeling? Sorry about the fish stew; stomach's not what it used to be. When you're young, food can be a luxury. You can eat anything your heart desires and not have much regret. I was luckier than most to have pot roast in my family; best thing in the world next to Chili. Nowadays, so much as a turkey sandwich can be questionable at best."

"… I think we both know what you have there." Terry said looking at the vial.

"Take a seat." Leroy suggested. "I found this red stuff when I pulled you out of the water. You had a death grip on it. You know, I've lost much of how I should perceive life… and the "monsters" who live in it."

"Leroy, I can explain that."

"Can you? I think I've always known what you are, but I'm a poor judge of character. I wish I could have made the connection sooner. I wish I can help kids like you who are pawns in this Henderson crap. Mira was good like that, took up babysitting before she met me…"

Leroy placed his hand on his chest as if he was having heartburn. It wouldn't surprise either of them, considering the amount of peppers he puts in the chili.

"… My wife passed when she had our third son; triplets. They were Howard, Greg, and Lewis. By now, Howard should be in a mental facility while the other two are having marital issues. Shit… is it wrong that I wish the world to be black and white?"

"I can still fix this." Terry pleaded with him. "Part of me… still wishes you should've left me to die in the ocean. You've made these last few weeks normal for me. Leroy, I'm so sorry. You don't even know."

"And now we are here." He said taking off his lily green sweater and revealing a nasty bite mark over his right ribcage. "My sons are ruined because of me. I raised 'em from the ground up and loved 'em with all I can spare. I never told them what happened to their mother. When my eldest Howard found out the truth, he came undone after that. He was studying for his Pilot's license, wanted to run his own airport someday.

As the years went on, holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas became hollow and lonesome occasions. I found my calling as a fisherman, left my teaching position and never went back. Do I have regrets? What is it you kids say, checking things off your bucket list? I thought I was happy when I knew something was still missing; being out at sea made sense at the time. Terry… I don't condemn you for what you did to me. I condemn what you've become. But aside from all that, these five weeks gave me a second chance to be the father I struggled to be with my boys."

"I can get you to a hospital, get that bite looked at. You can still live."

"And this vial of red stuff, Leroy pointed to, will this help me? It's been an unbearable burnin' sensation. The peach tea helped for a while until my body had gotten used to it. I don't have any money, fresh outta medical supplies, and I'm plopped on this uncomfortable chair."

"We gotta try."

"Son, I won't make the trip."

"There's got to be something!" Terry cried, grabbing the vial. "Take this. I don't know if it'll cure you, but it can buy me some time to find a guy I know. His name is Doctor Eckstein."

"Terry…"

"I'm not gonna let you die!" His voice cracked. "You took me in. I felt like a normal teenager for once in my life. There's nothing out there for me. If I go back to shore, my family will find me. I'm scared of being that… thing you saw."

Leroy pulled him close and hugged him tightly, "You're _not_ a monster, hear me? But you need to control what's inside you. Strength comes from within. As you get older, people will abandon you and see you fall from a distance. Only _you_ can break your family's cycle. I know you can do this, just don't be what your family made you. Live, Terry, live long and fight as hard as you can…"

The mask slipped and his human side surrendered to a father figure's love. His words had the biggest impact on Terry. Everything he ever heard came from false promises and nightmares. Remorse and the gravity of one's blood on a kid's hands was seldom felt when he was enslaved to Soul Leaping. Seeing Leroy laying back on his couch in a corner hit him in ways he couldn't describe. There was no hiding from it.

He became what Bentley made him; rock bottom never felt so dark and terrifying. The situation was enough to knock him out on the other end of the couch. In some twisted way, this was the first time he slept like a baby; no animal urges or reliving what happened at the boarding house. It felt like the longest night in living memory. The next day, Terry woke up in the clandestine Mess Hall with back sores and sand crusted eyes.

With nothing but the sound of distant waves hitting the boat's hull, he rubbed his eyes and looked to a motionless Leroy. He posed like he took a load off after a hard day's work. It took Terry a minute to process the situation. There was no mother or Alana to cry to, just him and the kind old man. Devastated by what he did, he carried himself to the bow and drove to the nearest patch of land.

Mau Mau Island seemed fitting, he thought. It was uninhabited and Leroy favored Brooklyn a great deal. Digging a hole wasn't the hardest part. It was a sunny day in the Big Apple where the light beamed on the back of his neck. Time went at a snail's pace, like the Powers that Be wanted him to endure every shovel of dirt he took to make the grave.

When he placed Leroy's body two feet in the ground, something hit him in the worst way. What does one say at a funeral, a funeral you caused by accident or otherwise? Dirt ridden and sweating bullets, Terry put the last patch of dirt on top of his grave and leaned on his shovel. He didn't know what to say. The golf ball he felt in his larynx didn't help him cope.

"I can't express, he paused as sweat rolled down his face, you gave me a roof, some of the best tasting chili I ever had, and taught me what being a man is built on. You should've… goddamn it. I know you can't hear me, but if I see any of your sons I'll tell 'em what happened. You deserved better, old man. I mean that."

Terry had more to say, but the words nestled at the back of his throat. No kind words were going to justify this act. The dead don't listen nor care, but the living will never forget. Instead, with numbness and the heat at his back he took a moment of silence. Even in his current state, he half expected to see Alana come along and snap him out of his rut.

She was good like that to him, one of the few who didn't treat him like a monster either. The "moment" of silence went on for an entire hour; must have been noon he thought. The sun gave his skin a break when a few clouds came in and shrouded it. It was times like these he wished his hearing wasn't in top form. The distant sounds of footsteps stomped on the dirt behind him; the subtle clanks of weaponry on human shoulders.

Terry had to make a choice. Looking at his right hand disjointed and ghoulish once more, the choice was clear. Three men in dark grey disheveled suits with distinguished tattoos on the left side of their faces confronted the lone Henderson child.

"Terrence…" Aiden called to him. "You're not an easy kid to track."

"… Why are you here?" Terry demanded.

"We're from your brother's underground organization; Red Globe." Wyatt next to him spoke up. "Bentley wants you to come home with us."

"Your family needs you, Terry. There's still much to be done."

The confliction in Terry only dwelled on him fighting not to become a Soul Leaper again. It took nearly every drop of willpower he had to stay in the now, speaking with these men.

"I don't have a brother. What kind of sibling turns his own into a monster? Tell him Terry is dead. If he doesn't believe you and you still have your heads, tell him I'm buried here." He pointed to the grave.

"… We can't do that." Rigel said cocking his rifle. "Red Globe is at war in Newark. Your mother's relentless and we need you more than ever."

"My mom's in Manhattan… somewhere." Terry replied. "Last chance…"

"Same for you, Aiden said as the other two loaded their weapons, come with us or there will be violence."

Terry couldn't explain it in that moment. The burning agony when turning suddenly felt lukewarm all over his body. He felt some shred of control of his other side, tightening his right grip as his eyes slowly turned orange.

" _Violence_ it is…"

Immediately turning around, a literal Soul from a Soul Leaper froze him mid-step, extracting the gas from inside Terry. He couldn't scream or move a single ligament as the gas exited from his mouth. It wasn't a vivid sight, but from what he remembered it had the same shape as Bentley. Then, without warning he was knocked out. The gas hovered over Bentley's ghostly hand like a liquefied ball, immediately absorbing it in his body. The Globes men didn't flinch the whole time until their eyes met with the man himself. Battle worn Leaper and the eldest of the Henderson family, he revealed his true face.

 _"_ _Rest easy, T; you'll be back on your feet soon."_

"Sir, Rigel called out, we should move. Holly and Mickey will be on the hunt."

"We should head back to our main base." Aiden suggested. "Here's hoping Rodney will meet us there.

 _"He will."_ He plainly assured them. _"Terry's gift will outlive us all soon enough. Let's get going!"_


	15. Chapter 15: A Redemption Token

The drive to a shut down department store was not something one planned for their day. Any illusion of summer was gone, making way for cooler winds and setting for fall. The world within New Jersey gets smaller with each passing year, and the people commit the same avoidable mistakes. No matter what road Matt, Josh, Krista, or Marianne drove it was the same activity. Ranging from people suffering a hangover at 5 in the morning or a dead deer on the side of the road; mere omens compared to what the Bullseye co-workers were about to do. Regardless of the responsible weight each had to bear, there was also a low level of excitement to it.

Julien made it a point for them to tell their loved ones where they were going, but not reveal what was going down. As far as Marianne and Damian in particular were concerned, their cover story was driving back to Illinois for the weekend. It made her sick to her stomach, lying to her parents like that. Damian had loved ones back in Keyport, but according to him their relationship was "challenged" at best.

If he was training for a suicide mission to take on a bunch of gas converts, both his older brother and step-dad wouldn't bat an eye. Josh mentally kept throwing things against the wall to see what stuck, looking for safer measures taking on the Hendersons. After a month, the reality still hadn't sunk in for him. He was in two different places: his body drove him on a dark road to Bradlees while his mind still replayed old events. How could he miss something about Mickey's background he thought?

Co-workers who knew him, prior to the incident, chalked it up to his personality being "textbook sociopath." That wasn't too far from the truth. People change working retail, and the "disappearance" of Mickey's girlfriend, Helena seemed to have played a role in that. It kept Josh up in the beginning before he was finally able to close eyes for two hours a day. It put a strain on his own family, tempting him to take a drink to keep him sane. Matt on the other hand was pumped for this venture. He had a rush he couldn't shake.

He kind of had to with the brisk cold keeping him alert. Matt anxiously drove to Clifton in the hopes of learning from a seasoned man in law enforcement. Good thing too, he thought, because situations like pale ghouls with orange eyes never sit well with the narrow minded. Pulling up to the department store, seemingly the first to arrive, Josh kept the heat running in his car until the others showed up. After ten minutes, another car with high beams pulled into the lot.

The entire area was silent, not as much as a wolf howling. Nervous with intent to peel out of Clifton, a sudden realization hit him. The thought of being marked for death by the Hendersons meant putting his wife and four sons in jeopardy. It made him take a breath, to keep his mind on the task at hand. Looking at the other car six feet away from his, it just stood there with no sign of someone stepping out.

Josh slowly took a cautious stroll over to see who he was dealing with. His heart rate alleviated seeing a familiar face.

"Jim, he felt relieved, you had me scared over there."

"You were cautious, too?" Jim asked. "Ah, this is my wife's car, still tryin' to turn off the high beams."

"No such thing as "too careful" anymore..."

"You're telling me, pal." He noticed Josh shivering. "Hop in and get warm." Jim recommended. "It's going to be a few hours before the sun comes up. If I know Julien, he's a heavy sleeper."

Josh went around and locked the passenger door behind him. If there was a silver lining with this whole arrangement, big or small, Jim's heater worked a lot better than his own car.

"Has there been any word from Julien?"

"Josh, it is 5:23 in the morning; way too early to be suspicious."

"Hey, I've got every right to be suspicious. He attacked Matt and the others as some "grandiose" introduction."

"How many times must we go over this? He _didn't_ attack us. The man's solid, just hasn't been himself since he transferred to SWAT. Even when we were growing up, Julien loved surprising people."

"Understatement of the year…" Josh mumbled.

"Trust me. His daughter Cristina isn't too thrilled about his antics either."

"I'll bet." Josh replied. "The tear gas he threw, it looked exactly like the gas canister Craig found in the backroom. I'm just saying, if any of that crap touched us yesterday..."

"Then, we wouldn't be talking. We'd be pawns in Mickey's messed up family, doing god knows what. I hear what you're saying, Josh. I wish what happened at the store never happened, but it did. The best we can do is learn what Julien has in store for us and go from there."

As if orange eyed mutants weren't bad enough, Josh confessed something that was left on the backburner.

"... I never got to tell you what happened at Corporate."

"Phylicia from H.R. gave me the gist. They're shutting down the store temporarily."

"Yeah, Lisa and I did our best pleading our case. We tried explaining to them the gas was contained immediately after it broke out. This happened under my watch, Jim. I've cost our people their jobs and Craig most likely his freedom. Corporate did a lot of finger pointing, mostly at me."

"She said it was going to shut down between 6-8 months. The new security personnel we had transferred to the Ocean County store."

"Ugh, Josh reacted feeling drowsy, you're right. It's too early. Let's just get this day over with."

Pepto Bismal, Claritan, Tylenol, and a humidifier; not one was able to keep Krista's exposure to Jackson tolerable. They've been attached to each other for weeks with no fruit to bear on finding a weakness for Soul Leaping. Krista began to wonder whether her merging with the former teenage journalist was a good idea. She had hoped she'd get a better handle on juggling two types of baggage on her shoulders, but the stories on her occasional nose bleeds and hot flashes were inconsistent at home. Her grandmother became wary of the change as well.

It was hard to miss when her grades went from B minuses to Cs and Ds. Luckily, the place she went for college classes had a library opened for 24 hours, using it as an excuse to leave the house in her exhausted state. As she pulled into the Bradlees parking lot, the sun barely peaked in the building's horizon. She hadn't had a heart to heart with Jackson for the past four days so now was as good a time to see what was up.

"Jackson, she said feeling a slow burn in her throat, we haven't talked in a while. Still not feelin' so good..."

"I'm here." He spoke from the backseat. "Sorry I haven't been around. Well, I've been here the whole time, just not bothering you."

"My grandma caught me talking to myself yesterday."

"My dad used to say talking to your self is the first step to being self-sufficient. Krista, the peach tea isn't enough."

"No kidding, she replied, I've been looking online for any herbal remedies to stop the burning in my throat and stomach. This shit is ridiculous."

"I got lucky." He spoke with regret. "By the time Terry killed me, it was quick. No orange ooze coming out of my mouth or a need to kill. Come to think of it, it still scares me how I can talk about this stuff without feeling afraid."

"... I haven't told anyone yet, about you. Last thing I need is Jim's friend pointing a gun in my face. Shit."

"Nick's still out there somewhere." He assured her. "Apart from Terry's journal, I also found two others from Alana and Mickey."

"Mickey kept a journal?!"

"Mm-hmm, referenced Quinn a few times. From what little I read while investigating, he seemed like a broken dude. Jed saved him from a drug ring being run by the Irish Mob in the 80s. They've been partners since then. I won't lie to you. I don't know what he's going to do with Nick's soul, if the guy you know is even alive."

"Shut up. I have to believe he's still in there." She coughed profusely.

"It's good to be optimistic." Jackson acknowledged.

Krista grabbed whatever tissues she found in her car as she coughed up a storm. The sun slowly crept up with everyone else arriving. Coughing up a good ten times, the warm feeling in her hands left an impression some phlegm came from the back of her mouth. The tissues had smears of blood and a subtle coat of orange. Her heart raced at the sight, knowing what was happening to her was happening to Nick. Jackson appeared in the front passenger seat.

"Jeez, it's getting worse."

"No shit, she wiped her mouth, can't imagine how Craig felt. You have any suggestions other than peach Snapple?"

"Don't suppose Bradlees has a walk-in freezer?" He asked as she nodded in disagreement. "Far as I know from his journal, when the temperature drops for Corkscrew, he becomes more reserved. The gas isn't erratic in cold conditions so let's hope this place has air conditioning..."

Everyone met up outside the building entrance with bags under their eyes. Damian poured some coffee from his thermos, offered to keep the others warm. No one was thrilled to meet Julien again. Matt in particular wasn't energized enough for another surprise attack, saying he just wanted to get right to it. Josh briefly chatted to the group while Marianne gave a concerning glance Krista's way. She looked different, but not sleep deprived or in need of coffee. Her facial features were more drawn in as opposed to her usual puffy cheekbones.

Was it the stress of not knowing where Nick was, or something even more horrific? The early morning wind chill prompted everyone to head inside Bradlees where they were introduced to the open floor. Dusty and the wind whistling throughout the hollow spaces, it felt like they entered a dystopian fortress. Bradlees was not much different than any other retail store like K-mart or Sears. It was one of the few businesses that maintained a stellar customer service reputation as well as having a grocery store as its parent store. For a moment, it put things in perspective for Joshua.

He had his own quarrels with Blue Bulls-Eye, and despite its shortcomings it still thrived for fifteen years. Bankruptcy overtook Bradlees, shutting down all stores in the early 2000s. After fifteen minutes searching the abandoned housewares department, there was no sign of Julien or any tear gas tossed their way.

"Where the hell is this guy?" Matt asked.

"He's probably gearing up for another entrance..." Marianne pointed out.

"I don't think so." Damian told her. "Store's been abandoned since 2001. No one has looked after it other than Julien."

"Yeah, he's right. You can hear your own voice around here." Matt raised his voice, "YO, JULIEN! WHERE ARE YOU HIDING?"

"Guys, Krista called out, an old escalator. I forgot this Bradlees had two levels."

"Good eye, Jim acknowledged, let's head up and stick together."

There was nothing like a dusty jaunt up automated stairs to get the blood pumping. As they reached the second level, it had a lived-in feel to it, like a sniper's camp with all its amenities and what looked to be a man-made command center. They were definitely in the right place, Jim and Damian thought. There were two laundry carts with rifles, seven bunk beds on opposite ends of the area, a spider web of Henderson intrigue of their current activities, and a meditating Julien. Things got weird again, Jim thought.

He never knew the man to be "Namaste" inclined. Everyone slowly gathered around him.

"Cast aside your fear, he said opening his eyes, you can't revel in its toxic circle. It was a mantra Corkscrew spoke every morning since he went to prison."

"Arms dealing, Damian brought up, one of his so-called "converts" gave an anonymous tip to the police about his shaky alliance with the D40 Hellspawns."

"You've done your homework, my man." Julien replied as he stood up to greet them. "You guys finally made it."

"No surprise entrances this time?" Josh asked.

"Still sore about that, huh? No, no surprises or secrets will be kept within these walls. I'm glad you're all here, though. We'll need every able bodied person if we're going to rescue Nick."

"No one's heard from him in weeks." Marianne said. "And I'm still having a hard time believing he got possessed by some asshole named Quinn."

"Matt, Krista, and Nick saw him at the boarding house." Jim brought up.

"I only know tidbits, been reading up on joint Henderson ventures like Red Globe and some nightclub over in Manhattan called the Abustar. Sources say Alana Henderson took up an undercover job there to spy on some mob faction."

"But the goal is Nick right?" Josh intervened. "That's why we're here."

"You wanna tell them or should I?" Jim asked Julien.

This situation played out like a hung over episode. The night before you'd feel immortal downing the hard stuff without a care in the world, but when the next day comes the throbbing migraine kicks in. That's how the group felt when Julien stated Bradlees was going to be their home until they find Nick. The leads were few, but if an organization like Red Globe is of any merit, it'd be a good place to look. Julien knew they weren't soldiers, or trained in the art of self- defense.

At the same time, he had his suspicions about them not being as "clean" as they once were after the incident. Explaining the conditions, Julien's eyes remained fixed on Krista. Her slouching posture, tired eyes, her eagerness to keep moving around; for a moment he caught a hint of orange in her baby blues. It made him take a brief pause.

"Are you alright?" Jim asked with concern.

He didn't provide a clear answer, just a reassuring nod.

"We're going to learn three vital procedures when tracking the Hendersons: gun discipline, getting familiar with what makes them tick, and recon your surroundings. Matthew, Jim told me about a Soul Leaper you encountered in New York?"

"Yeah," he felt uneasy thinking about it. "He was on my ass the minute he saw me snooping around a gang dispute on the Hellspawns."

"Darius, their leader... a Harlem gang trying to get a break in the contraband business before getting mixed up with Corkscrew. They had a falling out when he found out orange gas and allegiances don't mix."

"How were their numbers?" Damian asked Matt.

"I didn't get a good look. It was freakin' bizarre." He spoke in disbelief. "All I know is the gas convert's soul essence came out of his body... can't believe I said that with a straight face. We fought outside until one of his buddies decided to join in and crashed into the Leapers instead. It was like a grenade went off."

"I can't." Marianne interjected. "It's too fuckin' early to be hearing about spirits and grenades going off."

Julien then announced, "Look, I know how this looks. When I transferred over to Brooklyn, they dropped the Henderson case files on me and been tracking their operations ever since. Right now, our best chance at saving Nick is finding out where he hangs his hat. His last known location was in a halfway house in Queens. Keep in mind, his broken ties to the Irish Mob may come into play so we'll have to be ready for a firefight. From what Jim told me, we have until June next year to find Quinn at least. The rest of it we'll have to work as we go."

For the first time, Joshua had no words to comprehend what he just heard. It was unbelievable to hear Matt's time in Staten Island, even after having a few beers in him. Irish Mobs, tussling with explosive freaks, training to be a soldier in some abhorrent fantasy... it compelled Josh to ask, "You got alcohol here, right?"

It had been a month since Mickey escaped from his legal day job to meet up with his mother Holly and his youngest sister, Juniper. It all went sideways and the roads he took after the incident weren't always clear. Not knowing what to do with himself, he went back to the one place that upheld the old ideals of what the gas was used for. Mickey had gotten a taste of the so-called "normal" life without any gas converts haunting his every step. It led him to a legally owned truck stop in Newark Holly leased. The reunion at the time was bittersweet, for a short time.

The news of Blue Bulls-Eye reached her ears and kept Mickey at arms' length until she could trust him again. Red Globe was on the rise; twelve years in the making. Bentley sure knew how to improvise when the situation called for it. The broom closet sized room Mickey squatted in was separated from the two of them. It wasn't until one day he started making some calls to Mo and Alana, convincing them to join their mother's mission to snuff out Red Globe and its leader.

Coming to terms with how their family split made them realize the well-being of both Juniper and Terry. Even during this time of hardship neither refused to give up. Juniper remained homeschooled while Terry, Alana, and Holly made an arrangement to deliver gas canister to other lost souls to make a difference. There were a lot moving parts, but before anyone knew it, gas converts were formed and split down the middle between the two military siblings. Slowly but surely, half the Henderson family came back together, knowing if Jed ever showed up with his converts they'd be ready for battle.

On the way back from a three week incursion in Manahawkin, N.J., Mickey and two other converts Lucius and Cassie were slowly reaching the truck stop. Sleep deprivation and bodily damage carried a heavy, mental payload for all three. Cassie transferred from Alana's camp over to Mickey's group after getting shot in the spine. There was never a shortage of mouth breathers beating on their girlfriends, and Jackson Heights was no exception. Unlike Lucius, she went through a lot of firsts in her life; being a gas convert and nearly mutated into a Leaper took a grand toll on her body. It took some trial and error, and when she returned to the Heights to finish the job she was never the same after.

You lose a large piece of your humanity after your first mutation. Any semblance of the former softball player was swept away. Lucius on the other hand, being a third rate comedian and living in his car, was on a road trip of self-discovery when Mickey was out on a delivery. They hit it off pretty well, only on the promise he wouldn't tell another joke. Surprising even to Holly, Lucius kept a piece of who he was before the gas conversion of an old pair of brass cuff links.

They triggered a nostalgia trip of his first act at a High School talent show when he lived in Minnesota. 27 incursions he carried out as Cassie completed 34. You'd think society's low lives would take a hint and find a new line of work. Mickey accompanied them on a number of incursions to make sure they wouldn't get erratic on any innocent bystanders. It took some time, but he knew his Bentley's public manipulation skill wore off when the family was still together.

"We're almost at the gate." Mickey spoke with glazing eyes. "How're you two holding up back there?"

"Five by five..." Cassie replied observing her right hand.

"Are you still adjusting after what happened?"

"It beats paralysis, if that's what you're asking." She said. "Over 30 incursions and I've never felt what it was like strangling a man's neck."

"You have to find the right angle." Lucius claimed. "It's more difficult if you don't have firm hands."

"It's a lot easier if you're not the "painting your nails" type." She replied. "Those makeup fumes always gave me a headache. Say, didn't you have a similar experience when you were 15; home invasion, right?"

"It was. My grandfather had the worst PTSD; poor bastard kept crying about Vietnamese soldiers carving up his squad mates. He was strapped to a chair as he listened."

The talk of Vietnam and its connection to Soul Leaping peaked Mickey's interest.

"You never told me that story, Luc. Which part of Vietnam your grandfather served in?"

"Laos, I think? He and his unit were stationed at the southern border, fending off the opposition from sending Chinese refugees into an early dirt nap. We couldn't afford to send him to a mental clinic. My dad wouldn't allow it. "War is already a death sentence." He said. "Why send him to purgatory when he fought with valor for our freedom?" I wonder if he had the same sentiment when my grandfather beat his hands to death with a hammer. Moral of the story: the only invasion that happened at my house was in his mind."

"Is that why you became a comedian?" Cassie asked him.

"... Does it even matter anymore? All I got left to my humanity are my grandfather's cuff links." He presented them. "What do you got?"

"A redemption token..." She took out of her left pocket.

The Hendersons on the matriarch's side had leniency to represent the old traditions in handling their burdens. Alana was a debt collector while Holly provided silver dollar coins to show a convert's penance. They were seldom given to anyone as many converts on both Mo and Lana's camps were at times too unstable to control. Cassie's chance at redeeming her status was within reach... and making quite a fuss in the back of the truck they were riding. No doubt Red Globe would catch up with the fallout Manahawkin left behind.

As they entered the truck stop with converts loading up canisters and power washing flatbeds, the red morning sun welcomed all three as they caught up with the others patrolling the perimeter. The time away felt longer in Mickey's mind. His protective nature over Juniper didn't always mesh well with other parties involved. Homeschooling was an uphill battle in the beginning, knowing kids connected to gas buyers would know about her parentage. However, protocol demanded the other converts he trusted to get ice baths prepped for Lucius and Cassie.

Given his exterior reeking with old sweat and onions, Mickey was in dire need of a shower and a four day crash; perhaps two weeks max. His mother's office was on top of the two level cargo yard. Sounds of socket wrenches and drivers giving maintenance updates were music to his ears. Home never felt so good. Unlike Jed or Mo, Holly never had any need for two converts guarding her office door.

Everybody had a pivotal role to play that required eyes all over the place. Her mind devoted to two things: the future of her family's safety and retaining a piece of who she once was as a trucker's daughter. Waking up each morning was an uphill battle as well, but in Holly's experience she taught herself to devoid a sole need for the gas. The Henderson rift was given by her blessing, thus allowing her more time to do what she loved before meeting Jed.

When Mickey walked in and called for her, she took a moment. It was not often she'd be happy one of her own was back alive; Mo and Lana being exceptions. She thought she was dreaming at first.

"Mickey…?" She asked in disbelief.

He gave off a relieving sigh, "Goddamn, feels good to be back, mom."

"Shut it and get over here." She said as they embraced each other. "Jun misses you, you know? She waited up all night for you to come home, had to pry her off the window."

"How is she?"

"She's getting curious." Holly said. "Some of the converts see her as a potential protégé to be a Soul Leaper. A few days back, Silas, Bruce, and Hailey cornered her when she was doing her homework."

"Are Silas, Brucey, and Hailey still with us?" He asked sarcastically.

"If you ever decide to run this place after I'm gone, best choose another profession." She recommended. "I tested Mo's theory on two convert souls crashing into each other. Silas was more attune with his leaper side than anything else. By the time I got back from a food run… it was bound to happen sooner than later."

In spite of their burden, all the changes and "mysterious disappearances" affecting Juniper, by nature she wasn't a violent person. The very thought took the wind out of Holly.

"Jun was only defending herself, doesn't make her dangerous or anything." Mickey said.

"… I know, but she saw Silas in his Leaper state. Any other nine year old would've screamed and ran away."

"Well, hate to break it to you but we're not exactly a common, everyday family."

"Trust me. _No one_ knows that better than me." She sat down in her desk and massaged her temples. "I don't have a lot of years left in me, Mick. With Red Globe keepin' tabs on us and Alana going AWOL, it's getting harder to keep track who's on our side and who's on your father's."

"What about Terry; any updates since Staten Island?" He sat down.

"Nothing new other than Mo got him out. He went dark too. Until we deal with Red Globe, we can't allow Mo or Terry to come home yet."

"Agreed, Lana called me on the road." Mickey brought up. "She was cryptic about where she was, but for the past several weeks she's been going to a support group for Iraqi vets. It's in the old neighborhood, Soho."

"My Lana… there was a time when she and Terry were inseparable." She chuckled. "Terry couldn't function for weeks when she enlisted into the army. If there's one thing I know about us Hendersons, we always plan ahead."

"That's why I came to you first, mom." He placed the token on her desk. "Cassie stepped up in Manahawkin. The six convicted rapists out on parole are off the map; home bases as well. Lucius set 'em ablaze before the police found over a dozen rape victims standing outside. I made sure we didn't leave any traces."

"I remember this silver dollar." She said as her heart fluttered at the sight. "Your granddad and Uncle Rex traveled up north one summer, not hauling freight or anything but it was some beer festival Rex wanted to check out. I take it this means Cassie did what we've struggled to do?"

"Mom, it's not that I haven't tried." Mickey told her. "Since Helena..."

"Bentley was always elusive, even as a kid he'd pull the wool over your father's eyes." She looked down with regret. "I know Helena meant the world to you. Times have changed."

"And still changing; how is Rex? Did he visit at all when I was away?"

"... Rex is... still adjusting to who we are." She replied examining the coin. "Your granddad found this coin underneath a keg of German ale in Connecticut. It brought luck to his "alleged" heavy foot pedaling the truck. I'd like to stare at every syllable of this coin's inscription; calms me down. Rex has been doubling down on his auto business, said it takes his mind off things."

"Last I saw him, he brought his hawk eyes with him, like at any moment if one of us went Leaper he would cut and run."

She took a deep sigh and gently placed the coin on her desk.

"... We also captured a few guys from Red Globe, possibly part of Bentley's procurement crew. Cassie found them as a way of getting back in your good graces, hence me giving her the coin."

"I don't fault Cassie for losing her legs in Jackson Heights, but you and I both know she can overlook crucial things. She also allowed one of them to escape."

"She didn't make it easy, though."

"It took a day and a half, but as we were cleaning house in that motel we were stayin' at we got ambushed... lost Cutter in the process. 19 years on this Earth, just came home from Iraq; took lead against our attackers and got his "good head" shot off for it."

"Mo would've been proud of his service. Bentley's the only lead we have in finding dad and his converts. Now, about what _I_ did..."

"That incident was child's play. Bentley always had it out for you and Terry especially." Holly said standing up and confronting Mickey. "When I get my hands on him, when we as a family do, she held out her left hand as it mutated into one with bag lady claws, I'll take his throat."

That was something he didn't see every day. She found a way to concentrate certain parts of her body to be mutated without going full Leaper. Mickey didn't know how to react, only her subtly menacing tone made the message loud and clear.

"I'm gonna go see Jun." He nervously backed away slowly and towards the door.

The upper part of the yard was half supply, half housing area for certain converts after a lengthy incursion. Juniper was on the other end of the level doing some last minute cramming for a math test. If she had to choose between Silas in his Leaper form and solving fractions, at least the outcome would be simple than answering word problems. When Mickey entered her workshop area, Juniper looked up; completely stunned from head to toe. Times in Newark were grim; more so now that she had an idea the freight business was a gas front.

Seeing Mickey for the first time in what felt like forever, she pushed her schoolwork aside and ran to him. Tears flowed down her face as she tightly hugged his waist. It was a miracle.

"You're here! Oh my God, I've missed you." She cried.

"Ha, I can tell. Shh, it's okay Jun. I'm here now." Mickey whispered.

She then punched his gut and asked, "Where did you go?"

"Jun…"

"Mom won't tell me anything, math has been killing my mood, and if I eat one more bowl of processed beef stew…"

"Jesus, she still makes the packaged stuff?"

"I know, right? If only grandma left her recipe behind. Money's tight as it is, but if someone offers to buy a bacon pepperoni pizza, boy sayin' no would be sacrilege!"

"Wonder who said no. It was probably Dennis, right? Ever since he joined up, he's been on some juice cleanse. And I keep telling him. In this line of work, a full stomach needs to be a full stomach."

"Mom said the same thing." She replied. "She insisted on it actually. I mean, he's got the body of Matthew McConaughey. Eat some Fritos for crying out loud."

"Y'all got any leftover pizza… or bacon shavings?"

Both nervously chuckled throughout the small reunion between them, but both knew there was an issue that wasn't leaving any time soon. Juniper was anything if not persistent however, kept going on about how their mom was five years older than she looked. The other converts didn't pay attention to such details; Mickey played it off as work stress among other things. Thinking about it though, he never told her what happened to Helena.

"So, where'd you go? Tell me everything because the cabin fever mom put me under isn't helping. What about Helena, can she visit?"

"… Sit down, sis." He somberly spoke. "Has mom ever told you about our oldest brother, Bentley?"

"Yeah, she said he had to go sort some things out. Everybody was cryptic on the details, even Alana."

"Well… as you know, our family is dysfunctional. You weren't born yet. Bentley and dad didn't always see eye to eye on certain things. He was under the impression dad had been controlling him all his life."

"Through Soul Leaping…?" She asked suspiciously.

Taken aback by her question, it was bound to come up sooner or later. Thankfully, it was way before she was to enter high school.

"Is that what Silas told you? Mom said you killed him with a hammer. Now, I'm… I know you're not a killer."

"I didn't know what came over me. It was one of those "me or him" situations, you know. He said I had it too easy here, said he wanted to "prepare" me in case something called "Red Globe" comes knocking."

"Jesus…"

"When he… turned, other than peed my pants, I ran as fast as I could."

"Was mom here when this happened?"

"Only after, I think. Silas was on top of me and the only tool I had was a hammer. I think Mo called it "blacking out." When mom found me covered in blood, first thing she did was hide the body. I didn't see it, though; literally screamed at me to run to the bathroom and not come out." She explained as he contemplated on how to handle the situation. "Since then, I've kept to myself. What's going to happen to me?"

"… Nothing if I've got anything to say about it." He spoke with certainty. "Silas was a solid guy once; many con… of the guys liked him. You think you know people. We're gonna figure this out, Jun. If anyone so much as spits a threat your way, I wanna know about it you hear? Time has a way of sneaking up on you. Soul Leaping had a noble cause once, ensuring child molesters, purse snatchers, and rapists never saw the inside of a jail cell. It was our parent's way of justifying being who we are."

"So, you're saying our family was a group of good Samaritans?"

"Good" is too strong a word for the things we did. Bentley had enough of the violence, so did mom, but it was too late. The gas became part of our DNA and no cure can help us. Helena redeemed me in a way, even when I was working that retail job in Manalapan she kept me in check. Noah was good that way, too."

"I liked her." Jun acknowledged. "She and I shared the same love for apple cider." She smiled. "I'm glad you found them. Noah was alright."

"Me too, he tried to hold back tears, but she's in a better place now. Bentley will answer for that one day."


	16. Chapter 16: Aroma Therapy

Los Angeles has been known to be the city of sin. New York however had skeletons dressed up in both unique and terrifying ways. Times sure have changed. When it came time for Bentley to be his own man and take on the world with a new perspective, Red Globe was formed. Like many organizations, they always have to be built on a firm foundation.

While Jed had Quinn, Bentley had Rodney. The foster care system in New York was a flimsy affair; so were poor houses. Rodney made something of himself when he moved out of a poor house at fourteen; opportunity came a calling. He was luckier than most, not getting caught in the crossfires of the gas. Those he did know weren't so lucky. A former caretaker named Theo who used to run Rodney's poor house was marked for death by Jed.

Rodney didn't believe it at the time, knowing he had a trusting face and never laid a hand on him. Ladies of the nightly city used to call him "sleaze ball, one pump chump, and wife beater." The story among the other orphans was that while Theo was a "happily married" man, he also had an edge to him. His wife Wanda had to go out of town to visit a sick relative, and you know what they say about the cat being away, the rats will play. After his due diligence to the less fortunate was done, he would frequent a strip club called The Happy Ending. Located in the Bronx where sleaze balls of many kinds would flock to, the unspeakable happened behind closed doors.

Then, one night those club doors burst wide open with one exotic dancer fearing for her life; a fairly skinned twenty-something with the genes of a runway model. Theo knew of Soul Leaping at the time, passed it off as some urban legend told by street corner drunks and theorists. Little did he know, beating on the fairer sex was grounds for getting marked. It took five gas converts to restrain the brick house built Samaritan, dragging him away from prying eyes and taken to a closed down impound lot in Soho. Suffice it to say, Brielle the stripper became Miss Fast Track to Medical School when a compensation package was left in her dressing room.

Rodney had gotten a weird inspiration from "those who wore the orange eyes." When opportunity came in the form of Bentley, he offered Rodney a place to repel those who would use the gas for immoral purposes. Ironically, "Red Globe" derived from a popular brand of Georgia peaches that could be used for ice cream as well as making pies. Once Bentley learned his father mentally removed his love for peaches by force, his mind broke. He could have been a mindless Leaper with no purpose if it weren't for his childhood love for peaches. Together, they formed a resistance cell as opposed to the other Hendersons running small army factions and distribution services.

Both developed a father/son bond over the years, taught him the ropes in taking down a Soul Leaper with ingenuity. "In reality, a human can't kill a Soul Leaper." Bentley told him. "Conventional measures like bullets and syringes have minimal effect on them. You have to draw them out of their comfort zone. Some remain in stealth, but others aren't so smart. Once their soul essence leaves their bodies and collides with another, it's like a grenade blast going off. Just make sure you're out of the way when that happens. It's one way in bringing them down… the one with less collateral damage would take years to learn."

Very few knew what the other technique was. If there was one thing he took away from what Jed taught him, was the ability to siphon one's soul, curing them at a slow, yet painful rate. It was considered to be like a drug addict going through detox. The ones they siphoned would carry scars with them for the rest of their lives, but they would never experience the horrors of Soul Leaping. This ability alone caught the attention of Manhattan crime boss, Esmeralda Saladin.

Admittedly, she saw Soul Leaping as a countermeasure to repel war being wrought on Kabul, helping her brothers and sisters stay alive. However, being a patient businesswoman and proud benefactor for inner-city youth projects, she waited until the opportune time to negotiate where to take Soul Leaping next. From what she gathered by putting feelers out on Red Globe's activities, there seemed to be no end goal in sight. She wanted to bring this issue to Bentley's attention. It was around this time the rift within the Henderson family was stretched far between the Big Apple and the Garden State.

The first time he met Esme was at a seminar in Manhattan. A once demolished Diner that was a favorite to its people was being rebuilt from the ground up. It became a welcoming place for both youths and homeless people alike to come in and have a good meal. It struck a bit of interest in Bentley, but knowing her reputation in the criminal underworld, he didn't want Red Globe caught in the center. Luckily, a business proposition was settled instead. It took twelve years to build a trusting relationship between them.

In her mind, Esme knew she was making a deal with the handsome devil himself. He could take over her organization in a day with his ability to brainwash people. None would be the wiser. New York: a place where the opportunities varied from one-track paths to lifelong careers. Accepting Esme's invitation to have dinner with her at the Hilton in Midtown, two forces of nature were about to meet over a plate of Roast Duck.

"Time is a precarious thing, Esmeralda said admiring her glass of white wine, but these days it's a luxury wasted. We've been working together for twelve years, keeping this institution strong in times of hardship."

"Red Globe wouldn't have thrived as long as it did if not for you. I mean that." Bentley raised his glass.

"Even now, your modesty is like a shield. This is a nostalgic night for the both of us. Enjoy it!"

The room went silent as Bentley crossed his arms on the dining table, taking a moment to reflect how far he came on his own. The ease of his curse came at him like a cool breeze after tearing away from Jed, followed by hitting him hard some nights. A part of him wanted to be happy he became a self-made man. Knowing how to connect with people kept him honest, even if it meant using the gas to arrest prying eyes from illegal activity.

A sense of guilt overcame him in recent months. Whether it was seeing Mickey again at that nightclub, or being bound to the gas from adolescence wore him down, he knew Red Globe was the turning point for him. Terry on the other hand, like Holly, never forgot where they came from. Bentley relieving him of his burden felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders; for all the good that did.

Concerned for her "business" partner and friend, Esmee asked her attended to leave the two of them alone for a while.

"Bentley, I won't pretend to know what you're thinking right now. Time also wanes on us."

"Some more than others..." He looked up at her.

"Indeed. Do you remember the first day we met?"

"... Giancarlo's I think. It was nearly 18 blocks from Times Square. I thought it was Little Italy, but there was too much heat going down back then."

"And it wasn't just the weather either." She responded. "There was a power outage in Little Italy at the time. Rumors spoke of the mob getting a little "too creative" when it came to interrogating a Brooklyn Capo. My sources quoted it as a "bootleg Ponzi scheme."

"Ha, Jesus I remember how hot it was back in '03; ninety plus every day. That was not a good year for... my line of work."

"It wasn't a good year for business period." She sipped her wine. "City Council wasn't dropping a cent on constructing a new public swimming center for inner city youths."

"I barely remember what I was doing. The early 2000s had me in a narcotic haze, no money and a hatred for Georgia peaches thanks to my "father." Giancarlo's joint seemed to be the only place in the city with any air conditioning."

"Some New Yorkers were more set in their ways. It was a dark time here. I persuaded a few of the council members to join me over a plate of Chicken Alfredo. Long story short, I prefer Pomodoro sauce now. But the looks on their faces... doing business with a criminal was the last thing they wanted."

"You were never a common criminal, Esmee." He assured her. "Back when Salinger was running "good" causes back in Manhattan, Middle School teachers and Priests couldn't get a cup of coffee without his say-so. Not even my old man could touch him which was odd at the time. You've changed things."

"I wish I can say our time together has come full circle, Bentley." She spoke before pausing. "There is another reason why we are having dinner here and not Giancarlo's."

Esmee clutched onto the handle of her wine glass as if a child. To what felt like a lifetime ago, she had a selfish reason for keeping Red Globe afloat. In some cases, sending a message could shape the tide in any conflict. Kabul had been calling her name since escaping from its death squads. Her tenure as gatekeeper of Manhattan enabled invaluable resources Salinger left behind... along with a sizeable inheritance to two spoiled daughters studying abroad in Barcelona.

It didn't matter where she called home. The American dollar can cross any border for the right cause, and so Esmee did just that. Doing his homework on death rates escalating in Kabul, four of her brothers fought as the opposition. Twelve territories were pillaged and seized; many fled for their lives. Ravi, being the oldest brother, had lost all but hope his baby sister would still be alive.

She focused on sending money to them and whatever support she could on American soil, but it wasn't enough. Escaping a bloody and dark Kabul left a void in her heart along with some shrapnel she took from an I.E.D. towards the lower left of her abdomen. Keeping any food down was an uphill battle by itself, but she kept the shrapnel in a small glass jar to keep her mind humble.

As time and age were catching up to him, Bentley almost forgot the proposal Esmee gave three years into working together to keep the Manhattan neighborhoods safe.

"When was the last time you heard from Ravi or Hurron?" He asked with concern.

"... Eight months ago, she put the glass on the table, the last time I spoke to Ravi it was a brief conversation. The Wazir Akbar Khan district doesn't provide much luxury for WiFi. Apparently, Hurron crashed a sniper nest in the northern sector of Kabul. It turned into a firefight between the death squads and American troops."

"From what you told me about Hurron, he plays close to the chest."

"Our mother spoiled him." She replied. "Seeing her beheaded at a closed down Bazaar changed his perspective on life. It's been eight months since I heard from any of them. I know I already asked you years ago..."

"Esmee, harnessing my family's curse doesn't build character. It taints it. You've seen what I've done with the gas, how it changed me. You'll never feel human again."

"I never asked to come to America." She stated. "Salinger was too into the "underage" side of life so I did what I could to make sure those girls... and boys had a fresh start. I know what I'm asking here. The results won't be kind, but what I did to get where I am today is the kind of direction I want to give back to Kabul. Anybody can use a gun; too few can do what your family has done."

"It's been a long road for the both of us." Bentley acknowledged. "You've seen what Soul Leaping can do. Here's what you _don't_ see."

The last 40 years of a deranged family wanting to dominate the U.S. through orange gas, ushering in an age of mutants not even the Government can cover up. Mutants, villainy, global panic... natural assumptions, Bentley thought. He heard it all throughout his tenure in the family business. What happens when the layers are peeled back and the mask comes off? He pushed his chair back and stood up before Esmee. Puzzled by this, she watched as he walked towards the corner in the hotel room.

An orange mist emerged from his pores. His eyes turned orange as he took his right index finger and pointed at his throat.

"Stay where you are, he breathed heavily, maintaining focus is important right now."

He disrobed the top half of his body as his skin decayed in front of her. The orange mist did quick work in "peeling back the layers" to reveal what was inside. There was no way to describe it. If one could venture a guess, it would feel like a ripping off a thousand band aids at the same time. Bentley filled the room with his painful scream as Esmee kept watch over the door's peephole for anyone walking by. The transition ended up with the smell of rotting flesh; a wheezing sound of a smoking addict. When he revealed himself to her, she shockingly covered her mouth, keeping her distance.

"My god…"

"Now… you see me, he called out to her wheezing, the _real_ me. Jed held no punches in his prime. Are you sure this is what you want?"

At that moment, she wasn't sure what she saw was physical abuse. The orange gas did a number on him. Seeing him was a spitting image of the innocent souls lost in Kabul; disheveled and burned alive. Taking a knee to process everything, Bentley wobbled on his left leg as he took the gas he siphoned from Terry to glue the mask back on. "It's okay," he assured her as she looked up with shock still. He extended his hand as she stood back up.

"How do you stand it?" She asked.

"… You have a strong will, Esmee. Jed is a lot of things, but when he broke down his father's notes for the gas he altered its effects for each of us. For Maurice, it was precision. Alana is able to blend into her surroundings, but for all of us we can mutate at any moment. Should you choose to be exposed, the Esmeralda I see right now will cease to exist. You _need_ to be sure."

She looked at him as if fate was already sealed for her. Her mouth however said, "Your expedition for Saigon. I'll help you fund it. Whatever it takes for you to get there…"

Taken aback he replied, "You would do this for me?"

"You've spent years suffering your family's curse, and you have a war to end. My brothers need help, it's true, but if they die I can avenge them. You still have time. I shall make the preparations."

Who says you can't go home again? Jed hadn't been back in Soho in years. Staten Island may have been the start of the Henderson Family business, but Soho was where it truly began. His father's PTSD coming home from Saigon caused an uneasy friction between himself, Kenzie, and especially their mother. The late night terrors, the early morning "exercises" to become self-aware of the world around them.

Since leaving one of Red Globe's outhouses, unencumbered by his curse, he would travel to Lower Manhattan by taxi to visit a senior living facility he placed his mother in. It had been ten years since she was forced to leave her home in Soho after a Leaper attack by a rogue assailant. To what felt like a lifetime ago, his newfound vision didn't wash away the old memories; his terrible sins. For two weeks, he drifted back and forth, looking for Terry and how expansive Bentley's enterprise was.

Pride and sadness filled his heart. He knew he concocted the gas's ingredients to do good for the city, but at the expense of turning decent folk into a "family." Seeing his mother provided a measure of comfort for him, knowing her wise council would set things true. It was too bad Kenzie wasn't around to see it, he thought. The living facility wasn't much to write home to; even the staff working there was questionable at times.

It fell on hard times when the city refused to refinance the place. Suffice it to say, Bentley's influence on City Council turned things around. There was a plasma screen in every room, playing reruns of old movie classics and a senior hockey room to boot. Walking its halls with an orderly escort, the facility had hints of black cherry and pneumonia. The scent changed completely by the time they made it to his mother's room.

The inside looked like a greenhouse; like mother, like daughter. She became a celebrity when she turned undercooked Salisbury steak into something a five star restaurant would make. Basil and paprika left a homely aroma around the room. Leah Henderson: lifting hardships one spice at a time.

"Something's bubblin', Jed pointed out, is it garlic moth ball soup?"

"Oh, it used to be." She broke a few carrots and dropped them into the pot. "There was this one patient, Henrietta, and boy she was the worst they ever had."

"A racist bigot, you once told me. She faked her own death twice because she thought your homemade pound cake gave her the squirts."

"She was a dreadful hag, draining her late husband's savings like that. Now, her grandson Riley on the other hand has a full ride scholarship to Oregon University. Nice boy; wears too much cologne for my taste. I don't wish death on anybody, but when she croaked eating a chili dog last year everybody felt ten years younger. It made me feel younger, heh." She turned around and saw Jed, leaving her breathless for a second. "Jedidiah…"

"It's me." He somberly spoke. "How are you doing, mom?"

Leah hesitated, seeing a culmination on what happened to him all these years. She then deflected, "You got old."

"Ha ha, yeah I look dreadful. It's been years."

"Where's your sister, Kenzie? She hasn't visited me since your father… well let's just say I'm grateful the doctors told me I have dementia." She admired her basil plants. "These herbs take me back, though. Are you hungry? I'm making moth balls and beef stew with linguini for the staff."

"Mom, I need to talk to you." He looked at her with concern in his eyes. "Kenzie… she's gone."

As sick as it was, knowing his mother had dementia was the best thing that could have ever happened to her. Every day was learning something for the first time, and forgetting about it altogether by day's end. In his mind, Jed prayed she would forget her family and all she had been through. Like a swift punch in the gut, Leah almost collapsed sitting in her foldout chair near the window sill. Jed immediately grabbed her and gently placed her back.

"How did this happen?"

"… Dad's boarding house in Staten Island. Kenzie spent months working in the greenhouse over there, trying to reverse the gas's effects. She tried all she could think of; peaches, ironically, doesn't cure the exposure but it takes the edge off. Your grandson, Terry… I shouldn't have left to begin with."

"Oh god…" She expressed in disbelief. "The spoils of war tore us asunder. I knew this would happen. Your sister thought we could still live on as a family, and I wanted to believe that."

"We _all_ did." He told her. "Kenzie never gave up. One of my converts went rampant one day. Alana and Maurice were taking shifts guarding the house. It happened so fast. By the time I came back from Hell's Kitchen, that's when Mo told me. It's my fault."

"We all had to deal with it in our own way, even your father. Most nights were unbearable for him after the war. He struck me and the only thing I could do was barricade the bedroom door. You and Kenzie were too young to remember. He clawed against the door like a rabid bloodhound, for hours. I immediately ran into your room and barricaded it as well, protecting you both. We locked ourselves in for four days, but I made sure you two didn't go hungry."

"I remember the fits he used to have, even caught a glimpse of his eyes turning orange if I didn't "wake up" back in my body. Ma… did you ever see him "turn?"

Leah gathered her thoughts on Lyle's first mutation. "Back in Soho, people back then didn't have half a mind to keep to themselves. They would sometimes throw garbage at us, call your father the most heinous things; teenagers. Most of the U.S. was sent to fight in Vietnam, but the lucky few who didn't took your father's honor for granted. While they were flying on the tip of a burning spoon, body chunks rained down on him in Saigon. Then, when the C.I.A. chose him for that dreadful mission… still feels fresh whenever I reflect. The amount of bones he left in our backyard; something outta one of those snuff movies. When he came to his senses about a month later, he wanted to learn more about Soul Leaping."

"He trained us."

"A little too well, she replied noticing the scar on Jed's face, did that same convert strike you as well?"

He hesitated before answering, "I deserved it. I found him, mom. Months, who knows how long, I found the man responsible for the gas in Saigon. He goes by the name Kurosawa."

"The Untouchable Man, she suddenly realized, your father spent hours at the boarding house searching for him. All he got was a spice mine that got bombed during World War II."

"This is my chance." Jed gripped both her hands. "I can set us free of all this. All I have to do is bring my own family together: Holly, Alana, Mo, Terry… Juniper…"

One of the male orderlies knocked on Leah's door. "Something smells good in here, Missus Thompkins."

"Ralph, we discussed this." She turned around. "It's Leah; just putting the finishing touches on my special."

His mouth watered, "The beef stew with the garlic cloves in the mix?"

Jed took a deep breath and without warning, embraced her tightly. Being absolved from the gas helped him see how long he hadn't been around her, to feel human. He knew how his path was going to end; a cold and eerie feeling slid down his back, something he hadn't felt in years. "I love you, mom. When I see dad, I'll tell him for you."

"… Jedidiah, you're too young to march off to Vietnam. Be damn sure your sister knows that, too."

That cold and eerie feeling vanished as the color flushed from his cheeks. He looked at her and said, "Mom, do you know where you are?"

"'Course I do, she smiled, now go wake your sister up so we can start makin' the peach cobbler."

We are who we are, even if we sometimes forget. It's easy to forget sometimes, but that's alright. Jed recalling his youth was like a crossing rickety bridge, overlooking a dry basin below. He didn't feel sad for her; quite the opposite. She was a culinary savant even during Lyle's dark times from the war. To see her talents resurfacing again was more than enough for him to see to his purpose. Walking out of her room, Ralph reminded him about his son waiting in the cafeteria. It was strange, both thought. Being Chimichanga Thursday, most of the seniors would beeline to the spicy Mexican treat. It had been known as an ice breaker for the more shy retirees. This time however, the whole cafeteria remained silent. Jed wondered who.


End file.
